Downton Radio
by kouw
Summary: Charles Carson and Elsie Hughes work together for Downton Radio, where he has his own show and she is his producer/technician. They have worked together for a great number of years and their attraction is palpable - but will they get together? Modern AU - this story celebrates my fiftieth fic!
1. Heavy Cross

**A/N:** This is it. My **fiftieth** fic. In two-and-a-half years I have thrown 334.532 words on the page (plus deleted a fair few more) and received numerous reviews, PMs, likes and reblogs. I have become part of an ever-changing, welcoming community and have made amazing friends I could not imagine being without.

My first fic was a train wreck; I didn't even capitalize the first person singulars and it received six reviews. I was pretty much astounded - the fandom had not embraced the potential romance between a nippy sweetie Housekeeper and a stern, inflexible Butler yet - and it spurred me on to write more.

And more.

And more. From prompts to PWPs, from romance to AUs and angst. It's been glorious. There has been such encouragement and such a steep learning curve, especially for a non-native speaker.

Ficcing has been my outlet for a very long time and I hope it will continue to be. To celebrate fifty fics I am attempting something new:

**A modern AU.**

To be honest: I had been working on this for over a month and had plotted and planned and researched for weeks; when I finally got to writing, I had beaten the idea to death. Nothing I wrote was remotely good enough to put out there and I got in touch with two of my friends in the community with texts about NEVER WRITING EVER AGAIN and WHY DO I EVEN BOTHER (and worse…). But they are Le Awesome and told me not to be such a drama queen and fed my narcissistic needs - oh, how frail the artist's ego is.

And all was well. Or at least readable.

So here it is:

The first chapter of my Modern AU.

Enjoy!

* * *

><p>On the other side of the glass is Mr Charles Carson, the star of his own show: a mid-morning staple for the Yorkshire forty-five to seventy demographic - the age group with the most expendable income and it shows in their ratings and the ad breaks for luxury cruises, life insurance policies and the RAC.<p>

He sits at an old-fashioned wooden desk, facing her, but he is always fiddling with his record player, laptop and mic and she knows he has a thick block note filled with hundreds of little facts he collects and shares with his listeners. Sometimes he reuses his factoids, knowing there are few people who have the memory of an elephant (like Elsie has) and she always smiles when he gets enthusiastic about a personal favourite.

They have worked together for twenty years and she knows exactly how he takes his tea, how he sneaks a sandwich in during the news. She knows his love for progressive and symphonic rock and he indulges her every Friday when he calls her on the air for ten minutes. She knows he doesn't much like to play the big selling hits he has to play - but he understands that Robert Crawley has a business to run and that to receive a salary, money must be coming in.

Today he has played Adele - who he doesn't mind too much - and Maroon 5 - who he can't abide. Two new songs an hour: it's really not that bad. Elsie makes sure he gets a jingle after a track he hates, so he can compose himself a bit. The new music comes from the computer on Elsie's dash, as well as the jingles. Whilst Charles Carson puts the needle on a record, she checks the news online (and throws sneaky peeks at Twitter to see if their hashtag is being used that day).

Charles' voice fills the air again after the jingle - she had to threaten to turn off his mic when he started complaining about the state of modern music during the news - and she cannot help but smile. His extensive knowledge of music history is one of the things she loves about him. That, combined with his smooth, rumbling voice make him a real presence on the air.

"_Alan Parsons was a gifted engineer who was getting fed up with having to listen to the demands of artists he worked with and together with songwriter Woolfson started his own band - The Alan Parsons Project. Today we'll be hearing a song about friends lost and about the passing of time. Ladies and gentlemen: Old and Wise, by The Alan Parsons Project."_

The song always makes him melancholy and she doesn't know why he is playing it today. It's a sunny out; the dog days of summer are upon them. She watches him from her booth, sees him hunched over his smartphone, his brows knitted. Elsie thinks she knows almost everything about him, but there is a chapter in his life that he will never share with her and she never knows when this thoughtful, nostalgic, maudlin mood will hit him.

Instead of trying to figure out why Charles Carson tears up when Colin Blunstone sings, she makes him another cup of tea and silently sets it down on his desk. He looks up, smiles at her and her heart skips a beat. As she walks back to her booth, she berates herself: there is to be nothing between them. They are colleagues, friends even. But that is it. Mr Carson is a solitary man.

She doesn't admit to herself that because of him, she is a single woman.

Oh, she doesn't like the notion much; Mr Carson can be condescending and conservative, he can be downright rude at times, but she does love him. For she knows his heart is kind and because he is extraordinary at what he does - the combination of experience, expertise and talent is simply very appealing to her. And of course he is very tall and his chest is very broad and he has this rogue curl falling over his forehead that almost does her in if she doesn't keep a tight reign on herself.

It's ridiculous. She is a middle-aged woman of ample capability. She hit puberty during the Summer of Love. She has ridden the second and third feminist waves - has made herself heard and seen. She's been on 'pirate radio boats' and worked on news programs and is well-known throughout the country for training other young producers, technicians, engineers and indeed deejays. Her clipped Scottish lilt fills the air ten minutes a week, always at the same time. There are people tuning in to hear her specifically.

One of her protegees is tapping against the window from the corridor and holds up two paper cups from the coffee shop across the street.

She opens the door and she hugs Anna clumsily, not wanting the girl to drop the cups. The smell of vanilla is a little overpowering, but the smile on Anna's face is contagious.

"So, what are you dealing with today?" Anna whispers.

"Melancholy and nostalgia…" Elsie replies in the same muted tones and they both giggle a bit.

"I can stay at the dash for you while you do your bit," Anna offers - like she does every week and like every week, Elsie declines. There is nothing that needs adjusting and even if there were, Anna is needed in another studio. They keep an eye on the clock and sip their coffee, chatting softly.

"You're up!" Anna says and Elsie quickly grabs her record and opens the door to the inner sanctum. She makes herself comfortable on the armrest of Mr Carson's leather desk chair and slides the record from its sleeve and lays it on the player, checking which track she'll be needing.

* * *

><p>"<em>It's time for our own Mrs Hughes to share her chosen song for this week! Mrs Hughes, will you join me?"<em>

"_I think I will, Mr Carson." _She is much too close to him… she can feel his warmth, hear his soft breath.

"_Dear listeners, what you must know about Mrs Hughes is that she has an extensive record collection and that she carries her chosen album with her on the Tube to allow you and me to feast our ears on it." _They smile at each other. They both have large record collections and they often spend afternoons and evenings together talking about music, about the station, enjoying dinner together - sometimes at his flat, sometimes at hers. As friends. Obviously.

"_I have brought one of my favourite albums, 'Diamonds and Rust' - it's sold to hundreds and thousands of music lovers all over the world. Now Joan Baez is known for her political activism and I think most of us have seen or at least heard her performance at the original Woodstock festival where she played 'Sweet Sir Galahad and Joe Hill." _Charles smiles at her again and she recalls playing the whole Woodstock album whilst drinking one of his very good wines and discussing wether they should not have indulged in something of a more herbal variety.

"_Her life-long love of folk music was fueled when she was taken to a Pete Seeger concert as a teenager and she bought her first guitar when she was seventeen. She played the Newport Festival and became well-known in the mid-Sixties. She was the one who really showcased Bob Dylan. But none of that - or little anyway - matters because I am not going to make you listen to her early work." _He looks at her thankfully. He likes folk - of course he does - but he prefers it when he can listen to it on his own. Or with her.

"_And which song will you share with us?"_

"_Diamonds and Rust's title track - written about an unexpected phone call from a former lover that makes her reminisce about days gone by - a rather melancholy song." _ She cannot help but give him a bit of a side eye. He must know that she had noticed that he was being rather blue himself. And she is about to make it worse, because she may love him, but there is nothing that will make the blood course through her veins in excitement than to push this gentle giant to his limits occasionally.

"_Now, if people are interested, there are other very different versions of the song available online - from Judas Priest to Blackmore's Night, and I truly recommend doing a bit of a video search until you find Joan Baez and Judy Collins collaborating on this song for the Newport festival 2009 on YouTube."_

"_Oh Mrs Hughes, after all this time, you could not have spared me this talk of YouTube and internet?"_

"_Mr Carson, I'm afraid you'll have to join me in the twenty-first century soon. If only to see viral videos and cat memes."_

"_I'm not a cat-person, as you well know. But I am waiting to hear Joan Baez."_

"_I'll put the needle down now."_

* * *

><p>Mary Crawley is doing what she does best: she introduces the songs from the tracklist Anna's made, sips her sage and rose petal tea and laments the lack of chia seed pudding in the hotel bar she visited during the weekend. She discusses festival wear, men's facial hair, and flower crowns. She praises the kale crisps she has found at Whole Foods and discusses her Pinterest. There's name dropping and instagram mentioning and she talks about mindfulness and the merits of being a green alkaline gluten-free vegan.<p>

There is not a shred of hipster to be found in the actual Mary, but on the air she plays it well.

Mary Crawley lives with her fiancé: a steady, kind, cheerful country solicitor. Anna has great respect for the way Mary navigates the difficulties of being the boss's daughter and carving out a career of her own, instead of finding someone with a great fortune to marry her and pump his money into the station as was expected.

And of course Mary has been a tremendously good friend during the time Mr Bates was incarcerated, and when Anna was attacked not long ago. Anna bites down on her thumbnail. The past couple of years have been so hard. If it weren't for Mary and Elsie, she doubts she'd be sitting here at all.

She starts the jingle for the station, then one for the show and focuses on getting her breathing under control. The next song has been programmed in; there's no need for her to pay attention, but the words of the song make it through the fog and chase away the fear, anger and hopelessness.

After all, things aren't hopeless at all. She's steadily getting stronger, her nightmares are lessening and she's been seeing a therapist. And because of all of this, there is something she can look forward to. A soft smile relaxes the tense muscles of her cheeks and mouth.

Beth Ditto commands the air now, a song Anna has chosen to support Elsie. Elsie who is so confident and who is such a legend, but who is also lonely and pining for a man who doesn't see her.

Well… that's not entirely true. For one 'pining' is far too strong a word and secondly: Mr Carson may look like he isn't at all interested, but there is nobody he is as close to as he is to Mrs Hughes. At any dinner he sits next to her and with every Christmas party he buys Mrs Hughes something very thoughtful or clever.

He guides her across the street and he remembers her birthday and the day Elsie's mother passed away.

Mr Carson may perhaps not know it himself, but he does love Elsie very deeply.

"_Whatever you want, the choice is yours / So choose_" Beth sings and Anna makes up her mind. All Charles Carson and Elsie Hughes need to do, is make the choice: take that step, or wait forever.

And there is nothing wrong with her nudging them in the right direction.

* * *

><p><strong>notes:<strong>

* Charles played: Old and Wise, by The Alan Parsons Project

* Elsie played: Diamonds and Rust, by Joan Baez

* Anna played: Heavy Cross, by The Gossip

All songs can be found on YouTube or Spotify

(for my Germany-based readers: if the songs fall under your harsh copyright laws and don't know them, but would like to hear the fabulousness, send me a PM and I'll try to hit you up)

Some of the trivia come from memory, some from Wikipedia.

* * *

><p><strong>AN2:** Thank you, Dee for your always inspiring, encouraging and educational beta - and for those texts I spoke of in the other note… Between "trigger warning: Sting" and unconventional debuts - it's a miracle we manage to publish anything at all.


	2. Smoke On The Water

**A/N: **Thank you all so very, very much for your wonderful reviews! I am just so chuffed! I really hope you'll enjoy this chapter just as much and let me know what you thought of it.

**Thank you**, Dee - you do put up with a lot of self-deprecation, hysteria (and not just the fangirling kind) and deep sighing. I don't know how you do it, but I love you for it!

* * *

><p>"<em>1971's Festival de Jazz Montreux was supposed to be very exciting for me, as I had tickets to go and the line-up was made of dreams, really, with promised performances of Frank Zappa, Led Zeppelin, Santana and even Aretha Franklin and whilst I was not that much into soul music, I longed very much to see her. But most of all, I wanted to see Deep Purple, who were at the height of their popularity.<em>

_As most of you know, a Zappa fan set fire to the Montreux casino — the festival's venue — and things were decidedly frantic and frightening. The incident inspired one of Deep Purple's greatest hits: Smoke on the water."_

Elsie is leafing through a magazine, not paying much attention to the man on the other side of the glass. She has her cup of tea, biscuits Beryl Patmore had left in the break room. She doesn't care for Deep Purple much. It's Friday and she's not slept well at all.

She is worried about Anna. It's a recurring worry, never far from her mind. Poor girl has had far too much on her plate and whilst she said she is better and that she and her husband are feeling they are ready 'to start trying for a baby', Elsie has her doubts.

And she is worried about herself. What self respecting middle-aged woman waits around for a man for so long? Without taking steps herself? It's positively medieval. But Mr Carson is a man of tradition and nostalgia and she knows he doesn't react well to change when it's thrust upon him.

"_David Bowie has put his stamp so firmly on popular culture…"_

Her flat was cold and quiet last night. She had popped a curry in the microwave, killed more than half a bottle of wine and watched television (most of her evenings are filled with television; she likes it that way). Beryl had texted her a fair few times, giving her a blow-by-blow account of her date with Mr Mason.

"_Ground control to Major Tom / Take your protein pill and put your helmet on"_

Elsie's last date was almost ten years ago, with a man she had known when she was just a lass. London is a long way from Argyle. Being a radio producer is a world away from farming. Joe had still been a nice man (a bit red-faced and he had gained a bit of weight — but hadn't they all), but nothing more than that. She had contemplated shagging him — the weight of a man on top of her, god she craved it sometimes — but decided against it.

"_Dutch millionaire Sam Miesegaes stood at the…"_

Charles was probably the real reason she had turned Joe down. She knows it would have been _nice_ with him. It had always been alright to sleep with Joe. No fireworks, and she still doubts if he understood the most basic parts of the female anatomy, but it would have been better than what she keeps in the drawer next to her bed.

"_Dreamer is the single from 'Crime of the century' — the 1974 album of the band that shot them to commercial success."_

When she takes out what's in that drawer, she closes her eyes and imagines it's him moving over her, against her. She isn't proud of it — obviously — but it's release, especially on days they've been particularly good together. When half a word or a simple look has been enough and when their smiles are warming and comforting. And when the touch of his hand on her arm or on the small of her back as she crosses the street shoots straight to her center.

"_If I could do something —_

_Well you can do something,_

_If I could do anything —_

_Well can you do something out of this world?"_

She sighs deeply, knocks back the last sips of tea, closes her magazine and stands up, picking up the album she is showcasing today. She checks the mirror by the door to see if her hair is tidy (though why is a mystery; people are listening in, not watching her) and she just catches Thomas Barrow's smirk as he passes the studio.

She wonders for a moment why he is so early, but lets the thought drop and hurries to perch herself on her dearest colleague's armrest.

* * *

><p>"<em>Mrs Hughes, it's always a pleasure; where would I be without you?"<em>

"_Probably in this studio, lamenting the decline of your empire."_

"_Oh, it's hardly an empire."_

"_Perhaps not, but it's your domain."_

"_Ah, heavy lays the head who wears the crown…"_

_She pulls her eyebrow at him._

"_Well, I know your proclivity for psychedelic rock, but I have brought something that couldn't be further from that today."_

"_Have you? Will I be very dismayed, do you think?"_

"_I hope not, Mr Carson. I sincerely hope not. But I am meeting you halfway, because I purchased it on vinyl instead of simply pulling it off iTunes."_

"_That is kind of you, Mrs Hughes." _

_She smiles sadly at him._

"_It's the first full length album of Melody Gardot, called 'Worrisome heart'. Gardot is an advocate for musical therapy — she's was hit by a car whilst cycling and afterwards was laid up for a year and a half to recover from her severe injuries and music helped her cope with setbacks and rebuilding neural pathways and this album is one example of her amazing recovery."_

"_Sounds like an admirable young person."_

"_Yes. Overcoming hardship is something we must celebrate."_

"_Indeed, indeed. And what is the track you'd like to introduce me to?"_

"'_Love me like a river does' — I think it speaks for itself."_

"_Then I'll not comment and let the music lead our listeners into the weekend. Thank you, Mrs Hughes._

"_Thank you, Mr Carson. I wish you a happy weekend."_

The sound of a bass and piano playing in perfect balance fill the air, the voice of Melody weaving something around the two in the studio and they stare at each other. Long. Too long. Elsie can feel a tear well up in her eye and it falls on her cheek. She stands up quickly, turns and leaves their studio.

She has five minutes until she needs to turn off everything on her dash.

It's enough for a short cry in the loo.

* * *

><p>Elsie opens the fridge in the break room and takes out a bottle of Chardonnay.<p>

She doesn't care it is the middle of the afternoon.

She is waiting for Anna — they are having tea and maybe another chat. She's been careful never to press Anna on the subject of her attack of last year (within the walls of the station; she still can't believe it, but she has seen the scars and the aftermath and it still makes her queasy) and Anna never presses her on her cancer scare of the year before, but perhaps they don't really need to put it into words. Their support for each other is more organic than that, perhaps.

She pulls a glass from the cabinet and pours herself a generous glass. Thomas's voice is rather loud in here, the room small, the speakers quite big. He is doing his gossip column — he always knows everything about everybody and it's both intriguing and horrifying.

Especially when he starts talking about a 'well-known radio team' who have been in the business 'for donkeys' years' and are apparently 'oblivious to the sparks that never stop flying between them'.

Her heart is undecided about stopping or hammering and it results in a painful feeling, like an elephant using her ribs as a park bench. She sits down heavily, puts the glass down and supports her head in her hands.

"_Perhaps all my old friends need is a little push in the right direction. Even a cynical radio presenter like me can see they would be good for each other. So a golden oldie — though I doubt Mr Carson would call it that — Robbie Williams with 'Angels.'"_

Elsie groans.

Perhaps Charles hasn't heard, she thinks.

The words of the song filter through:

"_And through it all she offers me protection / A lot of love and affection / Whether I'm right or wrong"_

Oh, God…. Everybody knows.

* * *

><p><strong>notes:<strong>

Charles played: Smoke on the water, by Deep Purple; Space Oddity, by David Bowie; Dreamer, by Supertramp

Elsie played: Love me like a river does, by Melody Gardot

Thomas played: Angels, by Robbie Williams

All songs can be found on YouTube or Spotify

(for my Germany-based readers: if the songs fall under your harsh copyright laws and don't know them, but would like to hear the fabulousness, send me a PM and I'll try to hit you up)

Some of the trivia come from memory, some from Wikipedia.


	3. I Need Your Love So Bad

**A/U: **Guys, can we talk about how incredibly awesome you all are? Yes? Good. Because you are all so awesome. Like. Totally.

And on that note: Thank you, Dee - that sense of doom took some time to fix, but I think we got there in the end!

* * *

><p>Everyone knows. Thomas's less than subtle announcement that two of Downton Radio's legends are secretly in love has gone viral. There are emails coming in daily and their hashtag on Twitter is trending in the North Yorkshire area, with a new addition: #chelsie.<p>

For the first time ever Elsie is thankful Charles Carson isn't one for technology. He is talking into his mic, as calm as ever and the turntable is already spinning. All he has to do is put the needle on the vinyl.

"'_Take it easy' is a well-known Eagles track, but partially written by Jackson Browne. The Eagles were experts at harmonising and this song is no exception."_

But things are decidedly awkward now. Beryl Patmore leaving Charles steak sandwiches 'to keep his strength up,' Thomas Barrow wanting 'advice' from Mr Carson. Oh, it is all too odd and embarrassing and if she could, she'd just up and leave, but producers are hardly well-paid and the world of radio is feeling the economic crunch as badly as any other industry.

She looks at the big bear of a man and the way he frowns at the stack of letters on his desk. Elsie doesn't need much imagination to know what they are about. He's looked at her pretty funny when she came in to bring him his mid-show cuppa and he keeps looking at her, which is making her very uncomfortable indeed. There are only two things she can do, she's decided. One: pretend nothing's happened; or two: press on.

She has her chosen album on her dash.

Maybe all she needed was a little push. She's always had courage; it's high time she used it for her own happiness at last.

* * *

><p>"<em>Madonna?"<em>

"_Indeed. Madonna. Or Madonna Louise Ciccone, two years younger than me and a powerhouse if ever there was one. Rose to great fame in the early 1980s. She initially started as a dancer, but closed a record deal in 1982 and her third single 'Holiday' became a huge global hit. I remember it very well."_

"_It's not so very long ago, Mrs Hughes."_ She worries her lip before responding. The way he is looking at her is out of the ordinary and she doesn't know quite what to make of it.

"_Thirty years, Mr Carson. More than a lifetime!"_

"_I could not have predicted back then how Madonna would dominate the charts."_

"_Nor I, to be frank. Today's song is from her third studio album _True Blue _that gave the world iconic singles like 'Papa Don't Preach' and the album's title track."_

"_And what what will we be feasting our ears on, today?"_

"'_Open Your Heart.'"_

She covers the silence by playing the song.

* * *

><p>"<em>Often incorrectly attributed to Little Willie John, the following song was written in 1955 by Mertis John, Jr, who was his big brother. It was a hit for a pre-Perfect Fleetwood Mac. Both Mrs Hughes and myself are fond of the band who were almost more a soap opera than a music-making facility, but they recorded the ultimate best-selling album <em>Rumours _and they have been touring again last year. This song appeared on their album _The Pious Bird of Good Omen_, which was a compilation of different singles and was re-released in 2004. The line-up consisted then of Peter Green, Jeremy Spencer, Danny Kirwan, John McVie and Mick Fleetwood._

_Next time they play here in London, I'm taking you, Mrs Hughes."_

'Need Your Love So Bad' begins to play.

Her phone lights up with texts from Beryl and Anna, and Twitter explodes.

As does her mind.

* * *

><p><strong>To: Beryl<strong>

_How the hell am I supposed to segment a bloody orange?_

Elsie wipes the sweat from her brow. Cooking has never been her strong suit (her talent lies with organisation and technology) and following a Patmore recipe can be a minefield. And why does she need to segment an orange anyway? She remembers making canard a l'orange with a carton of orange juice.

She doesn't really remember what it tasted like. She'd washed it away with one of Charles's bottles of robust red and probably talked far too much to actually taste her food.

But she is hungry and according to Beryl a duck breast is very lovely and not too difficult and she has to segment an orange. She has already butchered two and she only has one left.

**From: Beryl**

_Shouldn't you be thinking of those Fleetwood Mac tickets and slinky black dresses?_

**To: Beryl**

_Bugger off, B_

**From: Anna**

_Are you seeing him tonight?_

**To: Beryl**

_Just tell me how to segment that fucking orange or I'll go to the chippy_

**To: Anna**

_Am I seeing who?_

She sighs. Why are they making it all so difficult for her? She's not dared check her timeline and she's not opened her email either. Of all the things she needs, it's not an email from her sister saying 'told you so' or Robert Crawley saying fraternising between co-workers is not allowed (she'll have a hard time keeping schtum about Anna and Mr Bates). She puts a frying pan on the hob and turns on the gas. According to her printed-out recipe she should heat the pan for at least five minutes before starting.

And she should have taken the duck out half an hour prior to cooking.

Best do that now then.

Her phone vibrates against the kitchen counter.

**From: Anna**

_Mr Carson of course! Doesn't he always take you out to dinner on Friday evenings?_

**To: Anna**

"_Not tonight, love, he's been to the dentist, half his face is numb with lidocaine. What do you and John have planned?"_

John and Anna Bates spend most of their Friday evenings in their local, refining their darts throws and drinking club sodas — John Bates doesn't drink and neither does Anna when she is with him. They are a good couple, though Elsie's always been worried about them a bit. There's the age difference, of course, and his past has been troubled. A retired Army soldier, an alcoholic with anger issues. And a lot has happened during their marriage as well. But Elsie wants to be supportive of both of them. She's always gotten along well with John, until the incident at the station.

**From: Beryl**

_You should tune in tonight, I'll play you a few of your favourites. Now, stop biting my head off. I'll link you to a vid of someone segmenting an orange_

**To: Beryl**

_Thank you. I'll listen in. Say 'hello' to Daisy for me and tell her to check her board, because there was an issue with the treble last week_

She taps the link and watches the video. And realises she will never be able to do that while she's so nervous and unsettled. Maybe she'll forgo the orange altogether and the duck too.

She can do some bread and cheese and wine and listen to her friend.

**From: Anna**

_Trust me, you don't want to know_

She takes a deep breath, trying to control the vague sense of panic at what the text is implying.

To fight the lingering feeling of unease, she pulls the toaster away from the tiled back, drops in two slices, gets the cheese from the fridge and skillfully opens a bottle of wine. She puts everything on the wooden cutting board and takes it all into the sitting room, puts it on the coffee table and runs back for her toast.

She settles herself, picks up the remote for her stereo and turns on the radio. Beryl's highly distinctive Yorkshire accent graces the air. Just in time.

"For those segmenting oranges at home, cranky and glum, not wanting to think about the consequences of their latest actions that have involved Madonna and Fleetwood Mac, I am playing something to make them feel better. Of course they've left it all a bit late, but it's still all very romantic. Sweet."

'Oh dear Jesus…' Elsie thinks. 'What is she going to hit me with?'

And that is when Johnny Cash starts singing and June Carter answers him and Elsie picks up her phone:

**To: Beryl**

_I HATE YOU. I AM NEVER SPEAKING WITH YOU AGAIN_

Her phone lights up almost immediately, the screen filled with smiling and devilish emojis. Elsie fights the urge to throw the expensive device against the wall when there is another text, full of spelling mistakes:

**From: Charles**

_Aee you akright?_

**To: Charles**

_I'm alright, I just want to drown Beryl in a pool of orange juice and ram that record down her throat_

It takes forever, but then there is a reply:

**From: Charles**

_I gave you my onlyness / give me your tomorrow_

* * *

><p><strong>notes:<strong>

* Charles played: Take It Easy, by the Eagles & I need your love so bad, by Fleetwood Mac

* Elsie played: Open Your Heart, by Madonna

* Beryl played: If I Were A Carpenter, by Johnny Cash and June Carter Cash

All songs can be found on YouTube or Spotify

(for my Germany-based readers: if the songs fall under your harsh copyright laws and don't know them, but would like to hear the fabulousness, send me a PM and I'll try to hit you up)

Some of the trivia come from memory, some from Wikipedia.


	4. Something

**A/N: **Thank you everybody for your wonderfully encouraging reviews! I am pleased you are liking the musical choices and the hashtag ;) Please let me know what you think of this chapter too!

As always I want to thank Dee for the beta-magic, the switcheroo and her aid in my continuity battle!

* * *

><p>Elsie wets her lip as she goes through to the studio. Every Friday she hops onto Charles's armrest and speaks into his mic whilst feeling his bulk against her back. She is not truly shy, not after all this time, but she does get a bit of stage fright sometimes and he always manages to make her feel more calm. But she doesn't know if she should sit so close to him today.<p>

She stands beside him, her record against her chest, her arms wrapped around it.

This whole week she's been thinking about what to play. Charles's text the previous Friday evening had thrown her completely off-kilter and she had only returned his text with a little smiley face, not knowing what he had meant by the lines he'd sent. Was it a declaration? Or was he just showing his extensive knowledge of song lyrics?

They had not spoken until they got into work on Monday. Normally they go out for lunch or drinks during the weekend, or they text —he on his old Nokia 3210, she on her smartphone and she knows how he hates that she can look up all of his texted musical trivia challenges now, but she never does, doesn't find it sporting.

On Monday morning she had slid into her booth, he had settled behind his desk and they had pretended everything was alright, that there was nothing out of the ordinary, even though emails kept coming in, letters arrived and their hashtag kept trending. Elsie kept looking at Charles from behind her computer and she thought how much she loved him.

His sense of tradition and his thoroughness. His rumbling voice and his kindness — all of that. And he was just so incredibly handsome.

On Wednesday evening as she stood under the shower, she thought of him and decided to take the plunge. If it all went to hell, Beryl and Anna would help her pick up the pieces and she could always find a job at a small local station. Or maybe win the lottery.

"_Won't you sit down?"_ he asks and Elsie nods, her breath catching already.

"_Thank you, Mr Carson."_

She is highly aware they are on the air and that she is really not sure how things will go. She doesn't often feel this rush, this uncertainty.

"_This week has flown by,"_ he says and she can see in his eyes he is lying. She wants to reach out, touch the lines on his forehead that are more pronounced with worry.

"_It's almost the weekend, I think a lot of people are looking forward to their free Saturdays: sleeping in, visiting friends, watching Doctor Who as a family."_

"_Do you watch Doctor Who, Mrs Hughes?"_ he asks and she is so pleased to see he is teasing her a little.

"_I did when it first was on telly,"_ she answers. "_Hiding behind the sofa like most children. I've been told Daleks have still not been exterminated."_

He laughs. "_Well, before it's time for Daleks tomorrow, what did you bring to enrapture us?"_

"_Well… Mr Carson. You know how I enjoy some of the newer bands."_

"_New bands? Oh, Mrs Hughes, why do you wound me so?"_ He smiles and she has to swallow a few times before she is able to go on.

"_At least it's second wave Britpop. A four-man band from Glasgow _—" she bites her lip as he turns to her a little, "_and the music video was based on this big Dadaist artist and I was just completely taken with it. Music and lyrics."_

She looks at him now, hoping (knowing) he will get the hint.

"_You are aware you are on the radio, aren't you? People won't be able to see all that Dadaism you speak so fondly of." _he says, obvious mirth in his eyes.

"_Absolutely. But I will have to play it from CD."_

"_Alright. But only this once, Mrs Hughes."_

She starts up the song and speaks through the intro: "_Excuse me, Mr Carson, but I can't hear you!"_

Franz Ferdinand's driving beat pounds through the studio, their first major hit '_Take Me Out' _her obvious invitation.

"_So if you're lonely / you know I'm here waiting for you"_

* * *

><p>He gets up quickly and Elsie jumps up so the chair won't tip over. She feels the loss of his warmth behind her like a knife being plunged between her shoulderblades. But he is not leaving; he is rummaging around the stack of records that leans against the wall. She can hear him flipping them, muttering under his breath. His fingers are swift and smooth and she closes her eyes for a moment, thinking how they would feel on her skin.<p>

His 'aha!' slices through an instrumental portion of the song and he holds something up. She has to squint to see it (she refuses to wear her reading glasses when she is presenting a song), but her heart almost bursts out of her chest when she makes out the art.

Four men in flared trousers on a zebra crossing. Long hair and beards.

Her heart is hammering now. Abbey Road is such a classic, possibly one of Charles's greatest influences — he would have been nineteen when it came out. She can imagine him vividly, getting the album, racing home, locking himself into his room, listening to the record for hours on end.

"_Ladies and gents, it's almost time for the weekend!" he speaks into the mic with obvious cheer. "And I think I have just enough time to give you all the goodness that is four men at the peak of their success. According to Frank Sinatra it is the best love song ever written. Well. That'll do me."_

He slides the record from the sleeve and places it on the turntable. Before the sounds fill the air once more, he says:

"_Enjoy this song, people. I know I will. 'Something' by The Beatles."_

And he falls into his chair, placing the sleeve on the desk. He grabs Elsie's hand, pulls, and she falls straight into his arms and as the short intro to the song gives way to the lyrics, his lips are on hers. By the time the news comes on they are snogging like a pair of teenagers.

* * *

><p>Anna is rushing down the hall — her coffee in hand. She is later than usual, having persuaded Mr Bates to go another round, thinking it won't hurt their chances. And she's had fun, which isn't always the case these days. So she wanted to make it last.<p>

Going past Elsie's booth, she is confronted with an extraordinary sight that stops her in her tracks.

Mr Carson is pulling Elsie onto his lap.

And snogging the living daylights out of her.

With apparent permission.

She almost squeals and runs to Mary, where she puts down her phone and checks her computer for her track list. She clicks her mouse furiously and pulls up a song that will forever remind her of happiness and being in love — a pushing beat and no nonsense lyrics. She turns the monitor to Mary, who frowns and shrugs.

'I don't think I know much about this song!" she mouths and Anna shakes her head.

'Just play it! Just say something about the sun being out, about getting in the mood for the coming festival, whatever!" she hisses and Mary nods.

"_Good afternoon, everybody, it's Mary Crawley here on Downton Radio. The sun is out, the weekend is coming knocking and it's just a beautiful day to be in love!"_

Anna nods excitedly, giving Mary two thumbs up.

"_Today we are kicking off with Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros _— '_Home' _— _hope you'll enjoy!"_

Anna smiles and hopes Elsie can hear the song blasting away.

* * *

><p><strong>notes:<strong>

* Elsie played: Take me out, by Franz Ferdinand

* Charles played: Something, by The Beatles

* Anna (Mary) played: Home, by Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros

All songs can be found on YouTube or Spotify

(for my Germany-based readers: if the songs fall under your harsh copyright laws and don't know them, but would like to hear the fabulousness, send me a PM and I'll try to hit you up)

Some of the trivia come from memory, some from Wikipedia.


	5. Let's Spend The Night Together

**A/N: **Writing almost-smut at the front desk. I think I am officially hardcore now.

Thank you all for your wonderful reviews! I am really glad you are (mostly) enjoying the songs I am picking for these goobers!

Thank you, Dee — as always. You are perfect. Well, maybe not perfect, but you're very entertaining*.

* * *

><p>Why had she offered to do a simulation with Daisy? The thought keeps running through her mind. After the broadcast (after their rather heated snog, more like), she'd had to run and she had seen the look on Charles's face. Uncomprehending, almost hurt and now she sits here, in a vacant booth, watching Daisy adjusting the mic and listening to questions Daisy answers herself, in this quick-talking, high-pitched, unnerving way. After she sets Daisy a small assignment, she goes over the meagre contents of her fridge in her mind.<p>

_He will come over, won't he?_

She won't have scared him off with her sudden sprint? They know each other well enough to know that this kiss (oh god, his lips were so _good_ on hers and he smelled so deliciously of his aftershave and a hint of manliness and she had not wanted to get off his lap at all — she could swear he didn't want her to leave… she even could feel a little stirring under her thigh as she held on tighter) wasn't something flighty. It had been impulsive. She cannot deny that. And why would she? She's been denying herself for years.

She picks up her phone and starts a text:

**To: Beryl**

_What do you think I can cook if I have a broccoli, some cheese and half a loaf of crusty bread?_

Daisy is diligently pushing buttons and sliding slides, checking the feedback on the monitor. Elsie's phone beeps.

**From: Beryl**

_Nothing. Let him take you out. Wear that blue dress with the cleavage_

**To: Beryl**

_How come you are looking at my cleavage?_

**From: Beryl**

_Never you mind that, just think how someone else *cough Charles cough* might be drawn to it_

**To: Beryl**

_How do you know I'm meeting Charles?_

**From: Beryl**

_It's Friday, innit?_

Beryl is right. She just wonders if he will meet her _today_ — and she doesn't need Beryl pushing so hard.

"Mrs Hughes? Does this look alright to you?" Daisy pulls her back to the task at hand.

* * *

><p>She is applying her makeup and keeping an eye on the clock. On any regular Friday Charles rings the bell to her flat at six. Sharp. -ish.<p>

It's a quarter to.

She has taken a bath, shaved her legs (and other parts — which makes her feel self-conscious and a little bit brazen) and made good use of the body butter Anna had gifted her at Christmas. She puts on her garter belt and stockings with practiced ease — she never could stand those pantyhose that make you feel a prisoner in your own clothes — and puts on the dress Beryl recommended. After rummaging around her jewelry box, she pulls out the earrings Charles gave her two Christmases ago. She wonders if he'll notice.

After a final check, she gets up and steps into her shoes. If he wants to wine and dine her tonight: she is ready for it.

She sits on the sofa and watches the minutes tick by. Six o'clock. Six-five. Six-ten. By six-twelve she has her phone in hand and sends him a text, unable to keep her impatience in check.

**To: Charles**

_Where are you?_

Her heart hammers as she awaits his reply. She pours herself a small Scotch and swirls it about. Her phone beeps.

**From: Charles**

_I didn't knw if you wantdd to see ne_

**To: Charles**

_Don't be daft_

**From: Charles**

_Giveme 5 minutfs_

He rings the bell four minutes later. She opens the door for him and he has a bottle of champagne and a bunch of flowers in his hands. His sheepish grin makes lust coil in her belly.

"I'm afraid I've forgotten my wallet at home," he says by way of greeting.

"Oh, that's alright, I'll pay!"

"That wouldn't be right, Elsie," he states, quite vehemently, but then he surprises her:

"You are looking very lovely."

"Thank you," she says, shyly. They are still standing in the small hallway and she knows she should ask him in, but she is so flustered by the flowers, his compliment and his large physical presence.

"We could stay in? We could order something from that Thai place you like."

He doesn't like Thai food. He likes Italian (and could be persuaded to have Chinese when it's a crisis) and for some reason it makes her swoon a bit he that is offering to share a meal he'd not enjoy much.

"I could cook us something," she says and immediately wants to smack herself for the suggestion. Didn't Beryl tell her there is nothing to be made from half a broccoli?

"That sounds nice."

* * *

><p>Her kitchen is small and you look straight into it from the sofa. It works for her, she loves open-plan living, but today — this evening — she wishes for a solid wall between her staring into an empty-ish fridge and Charles figuring out her stereo.<p>

She pulls out the broccoli, a piece of parmesan and a tub of garlic-and-herb butter. There is also a jar of olives, but she doubts she can find any use for those, unless Charles miraculously magicks some dirty martinis from thin air.

**To: Beryl**

_If I cook the broccoli and blend it with some parmesan and cream, would it become soup?_

She starts slicing the bread and slathering it with butter. She finds a frying pan, puts it on the hob, turning the heat up. She cuts up the broccoli, puts on a pot of water and wipes her hands on a towel before turning to Charles. He is standing in front of her record collection, his head cocked to the side. Downton Radio is streaming into the flat, the volume low.

"Are you looking for something specific?" she asks and rolls her eyes at herself: she sounds like a salesperson.

"No, just browsing." He beams and her knees go weak. She needs to pull herself together quickly. She has been working with this man for two decades. One kiss doesn't make a difference.

Oh, but it does, everything is different now and she wants to be cool about it. Cool — calm — collected. But things have been changing between them since her cancer scare and they have been growing closer and then Thomas totally outed them and here they are, in her living room, a dissected broccoli on her kitchen counter and a pan on the hob…

"Oh _shit_!" she exclaims and runs to the kitchen, where the frying pan is smoking merrily away, the water is boiling rapidly and there is a text from Beryl, saying her plan for soup is solid — if you like baby food.

After turning off the gas, she leans against the counter and sighs deeply. She is not a bad cook, but she is awfully ruffled and…

"Is everything alright, Elsie?" he says, suddenly behind her.

"I'm afraid dinner will be sparse and possibly inedible," she says truthfully.

"Doesn't matter…" he replies. He reaches out; his hand lands on her hip. She holds her breath as he lowers his lips to hers and kisses her a short, soft kiss that makes her heart beat so fast. "We can order a pizza later…"

'Lets spend the night together' starts to play, the voice of Beryl enthusiastically dedicating the song to 'my oldest and dearest friends.'

* * *

><p>She doesn't remember how they ended up on the floor in front of before the sofa and she doesn't much care. His lips are on the side of her neck, kissing, nipping and her whole body feels aflame with want.<p>

It's been a long time since she's felt so alive, so caught up in the moment. Her hands are in his hair, but letting go, one running over his shoulder, the other falling to the side as she raises her hips in an effort to catch his touch.

He kisses her, full of fire, but sweetly. He doesn't seek dominance, and she kisses him back, carefully breathing in and out, savouring every moment.

His hand is on her knee, gently pushing and she lets him. His touch is featherlight on the inside of her thigh. He grins when he feels the tops of her thigh-highs. He deftly detaches her stocking from the garter and rolls it down her leg. Then he lets his hand travel back up, higher and higher. She shudders when he traces the edge of her Brazilian knickers and she gasps when he palms her breast through the fabric of her dress, her bra.

"Wait…" she says — with great difficulty. "Come…" She rolls away from under him, scrambling to her feet. They'll be so sore and stiff and achy if they do it here. He is looking like a lost puppy and she throws him a seductive smile. She reaches behind her, and lowers the zipper of her dress. She is walking back slowly, hoping she won't bump into the furniture and shimmies out of her blue dress.

"Come…" she says again and turns. As she walks to the bedroom, she pulls her slip over her head and she can hear the thud of his shoes falling on the floor behind her.

And she hums some lines from that Fleetwood Mac song — knowing his eyes on her, certain that he will come with her to her bed:

"_Now I know I can't lose / as long as you follow / I'm gonna win / I'm gonna beg, steal or borrow / as long as you follow"_

* * *

><p><strong>notes:<strong>

* Beryl played: Let's Spend the Night Together, by the Rolling Stones

* Elsie sang: As Long as You Follow, by Fleetwood Mac

All songs can be found on YouTube or Spotify

(for my Germany-based readers: if the songs fall under your harsh copyright laws and don't know them, but would like to hear the fabulousness, send me a PM and I'll try to hit you up)

* sorry not sorry for this LTIH reference


	6. Come Over

**A/N: **Ah - yes, we're pushing the envelope here. Or basically you are going to be diving into some serious smut. Hope you'll enjoy and please don't hesitate to review!

Thank you, always, Dee.

* * *

><p>"So?" Anna asks. She is blowing into her coffee and looking rosy and healthy.<p>

"So? What?" Elsie asks, her hand tight around her mug. Her latte is still scalding hot, but it helps her not to blurt out she's been having sex with Charles Carson at any given opportunity for the past three weeks.

"So how are things going between you and Mr Carson?"

Elsie delights in the mischievous twinkle in Anna's eyes. Though things may never be the same again, they are still the same people - underneath it all.

"Really, you must try and call him 'Charles'," Elsie deflects, thinking of how Mr Charles Carson's lips and tongue were at a very intimate part of her anatomy not an hour ago.

"That well, huh?" Anna slurps from her novelty coffee (noisily, with glee and childlike satisfaction).

Elsie blushes. She doesn't want to talk about the intimate side of her relationship with Charles. Not with Anna, who is nearly a daughter to her. It would cross an invisible line, make things awkward between them. At least Anna is only teasing and not being disgracefully indiscreet - like Beryl.

"And you? Are things well with you?" Elsie has taken to asking this question every week since what's happened, but never has the answer been a nervously excited smile.

"We'll know more in a few days, I suppose," Anna says, staring into her mug and Elsie holds her breath for a moment. She isn't at all sure about what Anna is embarking upon. She doesn't know if the Bateses are ready - though of course she has no way of knowing this at all. She just has to trust Anna.

Perhaps _she_ isn't ready.

She reaches out over the table, puts her hand over Anna's. Her palm feels hot over Anna's cooler hand and Elsie closes her eyes, thinking of what to say.

"You are sure you really want this?" she asks quietly.

"I am," Anna replies with confidence and Elsie nods.

"Then I'll hope you'll know more soon."

"Are you seeing him tonight?" Anna asks, changing the subject back to Elsie's blossoming love life.

"I'd imagine so," Elsie says and thinks that since that day he played The Beatles for her, they've not been apart for one single night. His flat, hers, they've even considered splurging on a night in a swanky hotel, only to laugh at themselves for being so silly.

"You look very happy," Anna assesses and pushes the half-eaten brownie towards Elsie, who picks up her fork and starts to cut off a perfect bite.

"I am," she says, blushing again. "I really am."

"I am so very happy for you, Elsie," Anna says and her voice catches.

"Thank you," she responds, feeling inadequate in this moment, but Anna has pulled herself together quickly.

"I know exactly what I am going to play for you today!" Her naughty smile is back and Elsie steels herself when the time comes for her to listen to her protegee.

Mary Crawley announces the song with glee: "_Estelle is so great, isn't she? She is so stylish and beautiful and her voice! Ah… You'd never know from some of her songs she grew up in a house where secular music wasn't allowed! For all those in the mood for some naughtiness: Estelle featuring Sean Paul now with _"Come Over"_._

* * *

><p>"Here!" She yanks at the door handle and shoves her man in with some force, spurred on by want and lust and love. She pushes him up against the wall, closes the door and fumbling in the dim, greenish white light of the exit sign.<p>

"We have ten minutes…" She breathes heavily and finds his arms around her waist, his lips on hers, on her cheek, her jaw, the side of her neck, just under her ear and she shivers. He turns her, her shoulder blades push into the cool wall, his hands are on her breasts, his kiss is searing and he is so close. There's a little plastic footstool and he helps her up, presses against her again. She can feel him grow harder against her hip through the rough fabric of his jeans.

She is wearing a skirt and blouse.

Not something she often wears - it's a little frilly for a technician. But it's been a fantastic choice, in hindsight. Not that she is giving any of it much thought - he is kissing her into oblivion. His breath is ragged, the palm of his hand flat against her stomach and then he starts bunching up her skirt, nudges her knees apart with his.

She bucks against him when he lets his fingers dance over the edge of her stocking and he growls into her ear - words lewd and naughty making her moan.

"Ssshhh…" he whispers, but gasps himself when he finds she's not wearing anything under her garter belt. He slides his fingers over her sex, parts her, pushes two of his long digits into her hot, slick heat. She undoes his flies with trembling hands.

_What are we doing?_ she thinks, fleetingly. _This is a broom closet, we're supposed to be back at the studio, I need to be in my sound booth! _But he lifts her thigh and she wraps her calf around his leg and he enters her swiftly and starts thrusting, immediately, pounding her against the wall and it's something she's simply never done before - she has never felt this passion before.

God, it's frantic and primal and wonderful and she'll have bruises to remember this by for a fair few days. She'd not thought it possible, but she can feel her muscles tighten, her breath hitching and as he spills inside her with a groan, she comes so hard, her breath hitches.

"Wow…" she gasps and he catches her lips in a kiss. Soft and sweet and loving.

* * *

><p>They make it to the studio just in time and Elsie slides into her chair behind the dash, starting up three jingles so Charles can catch his breath a bit, but he is smart (experienced, clever, professional) and he starts up a record instead of welcoming his audience directly.<p>

Her eyes keep finding his through the glass and his words caress her ears as he speaks. She makes him tea, brings it to him and kisses his cheek before sauntering off again.

"_I cannot believe it's been fifty years since The Kinks released "You Really Got Me" and though a great song, I'd rather play you "Waterloo Sunset", because it's more atmospheric. About two young people in love. Really, what could be better than walking into a new life?"_

The way he looks at her makes her heart skip several beats and she accidentally bumps one of her slides, making the feedback dial go berzerk. She quickly re-adjusts things and shakes her head at her lover.

_Her lover._ (He is exactly that, just now, as she can feel the evidence from what they've just done in the broom closet staining her skirt.)

She balls her fist and pushes it against her breastbone to stop her heart from jumping.

When the song reaches its end, Elsie picks up her own record and goes into the studio. She catches her lip between her teeth and looks at the armrest where she's been sitting for years on Fridays, announcing this song or that and she makes up her mind.

She slides the record from its sleeve, waits for Charles to remove his 'Kinks' album and puts hers on before settling down in his lap. She leans against his chest, kisses his cheek softly, before turning to the mic:

"_Why Mr Carson, are you not welcoming me today?"_ she asks, teasing him.

"_I was just about to, you are being very impatient."_

"_Must be because it's Friday - I cannot wait for the weekend to start!"_

"_What is so special about this weekend, then, Mrs Hughes?"_

"_Nothing in particular, but I've heard from our weatherman it's going to be a gloriously sunny autumn Saturday and I was hoping to have a bit of a picnic."_

"_In the middle of autumn? Do you think that's wise?" _

"_Oh, we're getting on, Mr Carson. We can afford to live a little!"_

He almost coughs.

"_Well, before such daring do's, what is it you've brought with you today?"_

"_Ah - I am staying with our theme, Mr Carson. Stevie Nicks is of course a vital member of Post-Green Fleetwood Mac, but she carved out an amazing solo career for herself. A love song, a beautiful duet and I think - well, hope at least! - you'll appreciate it."_

"_I'm sure I will."_

"_We wish you all a very happy weekend. After this we have the news and weather for you and then Mary Crawley will lead you further towards the weekend. Ladies and gents:_ "Leather and Lace", _by Stevie Nicks and Don Henley!_"

* * *

><p>She is thankful for his big chesterfield. The leather is worn and soft, she is curled up against him - she's changed into one of his jumpers, it's so big, she can wear it as a dress - and they are watching a rerun of Midsomer Murders.<p>

"Do you want another slice?" he asks, pointing at the pizza box on the coffee table, flanked by two glasses of wine and a half empty bottle.

"No, thank you," she kisses his cheek and returns her attention to John Nettles. He picks up the last piece of pizza and hands her her glass. They watch in silence, sitting so close. From time to time she rubs her cheek against his shoulder. He picks up a paper napkin that was on the armrest and wipes his mouth thoroughly.

As she cuddles up even closer, her thigh against his, he leans in and kisses her temple. Her cheek. She turns and catches his lips. She leans back then, her lips not leaving his, pulling him over her, her legs wide (one pulled up, leaning against the backrest of the sofa, the other wrapping around him) and he is wonderfully heavy on top of her. He is taking his time, kissing her, savouring her like he would his wine and his lips leave hers, kiss a trail down her neck to her collarbone.

She's not wearing very much at all: after a long day she is usually glad to get rid of her bra and there's no need for stockings when they are indoors. She's wearing serviceable undies of pristine white cotton and his fingers slip just under the elastic seam that covers her bottom.

She fleetingly wonders how it's possible for such large hands to be so impossibly tender. Delicate in their touch, reverent. Insistent and deliberate. And she thinks how she loves how soft they are, as are his lips. He kisses her cheeks, her temple, the shell of her ear and she shivers.

"Are you cold?" he asks.

"Not when I am with you," she answers, pulling his shirt from his jeans and finding his warm, supple skin under her fingers.

THe leather sofa is worn and warm under her and he is cradled between her legs - he is such a large man, broad and bulky, it is a miracle how they fit together so perfectly. He traces her spine through her camisole and she can feel him smile against her cheek when he learns she isn't wearing a bra.

He cups a breast through her top, his hand trapped between his jumper and the cami and she smiles naughtily:

"Don't you want to know whodunnit?"

"Oh… it is perfectly clear to me it's us who are doing _it_."

* * *

><p><strong>notes:<strong>

* Anna (Mary) played: Come Over, by Estelle, ft. Sean Paul

* Charles played: Waterloo Sunset, by The Kinks

* Elsie played: Leather and Lace, by Stevie Nicks and Don Henley

All songs can be found on YouTube or Spotify

(for my Germany-based readers: if the songs fall under your harsh copyright laws and don't know them, but would like to hear the fabulousness, send me a PM and I'll try to hit you up)

Some of the trivia come from memory, some from Wikipedia.


	7. Better Together

**A/N: **Thank you all so much for your lovely reviews, you are fabulous. Thank you, Onesimus42 for making the Spotify playlist! Thank you, Dee, for beta magic.

* * *

><p>They are in his bed, the rain is tapping against the windows. It's Saturday morning and they have no plans. She is curled up against Charles, her head on his shoulder, his arm around her. He plants kisses in her hair and softly strokes the inside of her elbow.<p>

"What are you thinking about?" he asks, always so perceptive (except when it came to their shared longing for each other).

"Us."

"And why does that make you frown so?"

"Nothing in particular. Just that we have wasted a lot of time and that it would be silly to not grab every opportunity we get."

"And what opportunity do you think we should be grabbing?"

She can feel him tense. She is not going to make him ask her to marry him. He'll do that in his own time - she thinks and she doesn't need it as much as he might. She is happy to just have him close and she is very certain of him. A ring won't change that.

"We've been spending so much time at your flat, it is much larger than mine…" she starts, picking at the duvet cover.

"Hmm…" he urges her on.

"We could maybe…"

_Why is this so difficult?_ she wonders.

"Move in together?" he fills the growing silence.

"Yes!"

She is lucky he knows her so well.

"But do you want to give up your flat?" he asks, running the back of his hand over the softness of her belly.

"I'm not terribly attached to it. I've only lived there for two or three years now and I like it because it's open plan and light and airy - but that's it, really."

Of course it is also the place where she and Charles made love for the first time (and second time that same night) and it's the place she bought with the money that came from her mother's inheritance.

"I don't want to push you out of your home, Elsie."

"I don't want you to leave yours. You've lived here an awfully long time."

"Perhaps we can find a new place together.."

She sits up then, the covers falling to her waist and she stares at him.

"Do you mean it? Are you serious? Charles Carson, voluntarily suggesting a change of this magnitude?"

He smirks and his hand drifts from her belly towards her curls, parting her folds, slipping in between and she arches against his touch, her arms around his neck.

* * *

><p>"<em>I cannot believe how quick the time is passing, Mrs Hughes - it looks like Christmas isn't far off now."<em>

"_Early nights and sleeping in, Mr Carson, there's something to be said for it."_ She bites her lip, smiles wickedly, waiting for him to take her bait.

But he remains quiet and she is immediately worried for him, though she can feel him breathing evenly as she is curled up on his lap.

"_Don't you think?"_

"_Hmm… if you say so."_

She laughs now. "_Well, if you are going to be grumpy the rest of the holiday season, I will be forced to break out the Christmas songs and I don't mean the good ones."_

"_Don't you dare, Mrs Hughes!_" he answers and his voice fills the studio.

"_Well, perhaps not, then."_

"_What are you playing for us today? I've noticed you didn't bring a record with you today."_

She daren't say out loud that she is afraid a record will break when she gets on the Tube with him. It's always crowded and he stands, holding on to the railing and she holds on to him - much too close to be proper, much too tight to be casual.

"_I have an actual CD with me today, Mr Carson. I'm afraid you have to grin and bear it."_

"_As long as you are not hooking up an iPod, I think I'll manage."_

"_Really, you must join us in the twenty-first century, Mr Carson!"_

"_I'll join you in listening to your pick of the week."_

She guffaws and shakes her head, her hand on his cheek and she can only just catch herself before kissing him.

"_Jack Johnson today, Mr Carson, a surfer dude with a guitar. Plain and simple. With a lovely, lovely song that is almost ten years old! I can't believe it, but there you have it. _"Better together"_."_

* * *

><p><strong>To: Beryl<strong>

_WE'VE FOUND THE PERFECT FLAT!_

Their combined salaries and the profit from selling their flats has left them with choice: something Elsie has not really had before and they have made lists of what they want (need!). A bathroom with an actual tub; open plan living and two bedrooms.

They had decided on neighbourhoods and had stalked the areas for supermarkets, restaurants and public transport and in the end it had taken them three sighting before deciding on the flat she is standing in now. Charles is in a meeting with Robert, leaving her free to enjoy the flat in solitude for a moment.

**From: Beryl**

_I am coming over now, text me the address_

And that is how she finds herself having an impromptu picnic in her new flat that she will share with her lover (she wants to call him her boyfriend, but he is neither a boy nor solely her friend). Beryl makes rude jokes and they laugh until they cry, sharing a bottle of prosecco between the pair of them.

"How are things going with you and this mysterious Mr Mason?" Elsie asks. They are sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall and she can really feel the wine having traveled straight to her legs. Getting up will be akin to a clown's performance in a circus.

"Slowly," Beryl answers, slicing off a piece of Brie and popping it in her mouth.

"But steadily?" Elsie adds questioningly.

"We'll have to wait and see. He is a careful man."

"I thought Charles Carson was a careful man," Elsie ponders and nibbles at a piece of baguette.

* * *

><p>"We don't need two <em>Rumours<em>, Elsie."

"I agree. But I don't see why it's mine that has to go. I bought it when I first came to London."

"Well, we could keep yours and put mine in storage then, but I don't like throwing things out that are perfectly fine."

"But you expect me to…" she can't even speak, she is fuming.

"That is not what I said, Els'!"

"Perhaps not, but it is what you mean. You want me to put my _Abbey Road_ and _Rumours_ and _The Dark Side of the Moon_ away! I don't understand you, Charles Carson, I just really don't and I really need you to come down from that cloud and join me here on Earth!"

She is gripping the handle of her record carrier case hard. She is not giving them up. She doesn't have much in terms of possessions: there's her records and her stereo - and a photo album or two. She doesn't care about her furniture, she doesn't mind she has to give up her dinner ware.

She is trembling with anger and frustration.

"What do you suggest we do then?" he is getting up steam too.

"I am going to put my case down and I am going outside for a bit."

She carefully lowers the case to the ground, turns on her heel and leaves.

* * *

><p><strong>To: Anna<strong>

_Men are idiots_

She wipes the tears from her eyes and sips her white tea. They are lucky to have a bit of a paved garden with french doors that lead to it. She's already been thinking of putting some big pots with annual in and maybe a bit of a vegetable garden - like Nigel Slater has. Not that she enjoys cooking so much, but she is a farmgirl, really. She likes to put her hands in the dirt sometimes.

She drinks slowly and nods to herself. She puts her mug down and gets up from the rickety chair. She starts pulling the weeds from between the tiles, working up a bit of a sweat. She has about a square yard done when her phone vibrates.

**From: Anna**

_Agreed. They are horrible_

Elsie cannot help but chuckle a bit. She wipes a loose lock of hair from her face and runs the back of her hand over her brow, catching a bit of perspiration before texting back. Before she has her message composed, there is a new text from her girl.

**From: Anna**

_Do you want to talk about it?_

Elsie leans against the table and picks up her mug again, drinking while responding:

**To: Anna**

_Two headstrong radio makers fight over record collection - I doubt there is much to say about it._

**From: Anna**

_Sounds like a headline in the Sunday paper. But I am sure you'll both come to a satisfying conclusion_

She shakes her head. Double entendre aside: this is about her not willing to give in and of him not wanting to give up.

They will have to compromise. And they have always managed to make up when they fight.

**To: Anna**

_I think I may have a solution - thank you for keeping my feet on the ground_

And she calls into the flat: "Charles! I have an idea!" just as he starts to sing along with Elton John - loudly and off-key:

"_ALWAYS SEEMS TO MEEEE THAT SORRY SEEMS TO BEEEEE THE HARDEST WOOOORD!"_

* * *

><p><strong>notes:<strong>

* Elsie played: Better Together, by Jack Johnson

* Charles played (yelled…): Sorry Seems To Be The Hardest Word, by Elton John


	8. God only knows

**A/N: **Thank you everyone for reading, reblogging and reviewing. You are all fabulous!

Thank you, Dee, for beta magic and frantic texting during DA S05E01.

* * *

><p>Christmas is coming closer and they have settled on keeping all their records together in the spare room. What do they need a spare room for anyway? And this is something that is important to them both.<p>

Beryl has been steadily pumping Elsie for information about her love life — though there is little Elsie is willing to share that cannot be seen on the outside. She and Charles hold hands as they walk together and they are _living together_ for heavens' sake, that should be a clear enough indication this is not a casual fling. She is on the wrong side of fifty (is there a right side? she wonders) — and she is in love. She is free to do as she pleases.

Everything is easy, happy. Comfortable and exciting at the same time. It is lovely to discover that he doesn't like porridge in the morning, but enjoys his toast so dark it's almost burnt. It's lovely to watch him wash his hair, iron his shirts, read the newspaper in the afternoon.

She loves cozying up to Charles on the sofa with a good book and a cup of tea, or to watch television with glasses of wine and a platter of cheese.

The good life, really.

They spend their weekends perfecting their flat and discussing their favourite songs. He knows so many little facts about so many artists; she knows how to place the speakers just _so_ to get perfect surround sound. He complains about EDM* and waxes poetic about Syd Barrett. He listens attentively to stories of her childhood in Scotland.

They have dinner parties sometimes and it's like having your daughter over with her husband and trying to ignore the tension. Charles buys fancy water, like Perrier or San Pellegrino to show they are supportive of John not drinking. It makes a pleasant change and they really don't mind. Conversation always flows easily, as John travelled a lot when he was in the Army and he is an educated man who dotes on Anna.

Things are easier between Elsie and John again — his anger has subsided and he has profusely apologised for his behaviour towards her when Anna had just been attacked. It is just a question of time that her trust in him will be rebuilt.

She chooses meals Anna won't have to refuse — there's no steak for them or Camembert — and she watches Anna for the telltale signs of pregnancy. After that first nervous smile, weeks ago, there's not been any indication of Anna 'catching' and she had told her girl that it hardly happens the first time you try (though how the hell does she know? With Joe she had always taken precautions so that it wouldn't happen and with Charles there's no need to worry one way or the other).

And now that she is used to the idea of Anna and John having a baby, she is starting to get rather impatient for it to happen.

A little baby to join the family. The idea makes her smile and sigh contentedly.

It is a very strange thing to know you are finally, perfectly happy.

* * *

><p>"<em>Am I early, Mr Carson?"<em>

"_You are a bit, but no matter, I'm sure your song will make time stand still."_

"_Goodness me, Mr Carson, let's hope not!" _

For a moment she thinks he is going to whisper to her that she always makes time stand still for him, but he recovers swiftly and asks her to talk about what she has brought along today.

"_So, here's the thing: I know that one of your all-time favourite albums is Led Zeppelin's II. And it is a great album. It is all you could ask from rock 'n roll, really and I am most definitely not going to deny that Jimmy Page looked especially fine in 1973. I don't use the word 'Adonis' lightly, but I really do not know how to describe him in other words. That blonde waving hair, that passion..."_

"_Dear me, Mrs Hughes, that does sound rather risqué!"_

"_Oh come off it, Mr Carson, you know full well that there is something to be said for silver hair with errant curls too."_

She loves how he flushes, that he has nothing to say. But they are on the air and too long a silence is deadly. Her phone lights up though and she sees someone has tweeted her: ". elsiehughes ain't half wrong about them silver foxes! #nom #chelsieforever"

"_But on that album is a song that is actually one of my all-time favourites. I like that it is a ballad with a little more oomph and I love the lyrics. They are pretty much perfect. Now, a couple of years ago, a gospel singer recorded that song and turned into such a soulful, beautiful experience and I just really wanted to share that with you, Mr Carson."_

"_And what song is this, pray tell, Mrs Hughes?"_

"_Liz Wright, from the album _The Orchard_: a song called 'Thank you.'"_

Her smile at him is almost dazzling and she snuggles up closer, kissing him soundly, deeply.

* * *

><p>"Elsie, will you get me my Pet Sounds?" He gently sets her down from his lap halfway through the song and she busies herself with finding the album in the stack that is leaning against the wall. She can hear him rummaging around behind her: opening and closing a drawer, pulling something out, shuffling something. When she finds the record, she stands up and gives it to Charles who takes it with a rather solemn nod.<p>

Something is wrong.

She can feel it.

An atmosphere, so thick she could cut it if she had knife.

He puts the record on the turntable and it starts spinning, ready for Charles to drop the needle. The last tones of 'Thank you' are drifting through the air and he starts talking into the mic, still standing.

"_Mrs Hughes, that was very beautiful. Now, you know I am rather a purist and I don't generally like it when artists cover other people's work _— _there are exceptions of course and I think this was definitely on the list of exceptions."_

Elsie hastens over to the mic: "_High praise indeed, Mr Carson."_

"_Now, I have something that is original and it's the first track on the B-side of The Beach Boys brilliant album _Pet Sounds_."_

Again a pointed look and he takes her hand, leads her to sit in his chair (still warm from him, the leather and his own scent tickling her nose).

"_Brian Wilson wasn't at all certain about making this song a single, because of the word it starts with, but it turned out to be a wonderful gamble that made an incredible impact on the world. It's Paul McCartney's favourite song and it's a song that made Bono say it must have been written by angels. And it is a song that in a short time has become very dear to me. I want to wish everybody listening in a very happy weekend and we'll be back on Monday morning. 'God Only Knows.'"_

Charles pushes his chair — with her still in it — a little further away from the desk, accidentally hitting the laptop. Elsie sees the feedback dial stutter before returning to normal and a few of the usual lights go from orange to yellow, but it doesn't look like there should be a problem for those listening in.

"Elsie?" he asks and Elsie holds her breath. The sense of foreboding is almost overwhelming now.

"Yes, Charles?" She can hear her own voice waver.

"This song is not just Paul McCartney's favourite and it is true that it's started to mean a lot to me over the past few months."

She swallows before wetting her lips.

"A couple of weeks ago, you said we had wasted a lot of time and that we should be grabbing every opportunity with both hands."

"Yes, I did…" They had both been naked, covered by Charles's lovely, thick duvet, the rain lashing against the windows.

"Elsie…" he starts and he sinks down on one knee before her and her heart hammers, her throat thick with emotion.

"Will you do me the unspeakable honour of becoming my wife? Because truly, God only knows what I'd be without you. I love you so, so very much."

He grabs her hand and Elsie is overcome with emotion — too much to even speak, so she nods before finally managing to stammer 'yes'.

He raises himself off the floor, reaching behind him and showing her a little box with a ring in it and he takes the ring, pulls it away from the foam and tosses the box away.

"So you do?" he asks one more time, as if he needs more than her simple 'yes.'

"I do. I love you."

He slides the ring onto her finger and kisses her. Deeply, thoroughly, his hands on her waist and he pulls her up from the chair, their bodies finally touching.

"Charles?" Elsie says when she pulls away a moment, distracted by the constant buzzing of her phone.

"Yes?"

"Could you hand me my phone? Something is up."

He hands her the smartphone and there is an enormous list of tweets, texts and messages. The top five are lighting up again and Elsie drops the expensive device on the floor, her hand covering her mouth and she steps away from her man to check the laptop. As she frantically bangs on the keyboard, Charles picks up her phone and puts it on the desk.

The messages light up the screen:

**From: Beryl**

_OHMYGODHEPROPOSEDONTHEAIR_

**From: Anna**

_He proposed! He proposed! OMG_

**Twitter**

thethomasbarrow, randomstranger, MaryCrawley and 61 others have added TheQueenOfSass tweet to their favourites

**Twitter**

TheQueenOfSass: elsiehughes I am pencilling you in for wedding cake tasting this Sunday #chelsie #wedding #FUCKYEAH

* * *

><p>* Electronic Dance Music<p>

**notes:**

* Elsie played: Thank you, by Liz Wright (the original by Led Zeppelin)

* Charles played: God Only Knows, by The Beach Boys

All songs can be found on YouTube or Spotify

(for my Germany-based readers: if the songs fall under your harsh copyright laws and don't know them, but would like to hear the fabulousness, send me a PM and I'll try to hit you up)

Some of the trivia come from memory, some from Wikipedia.


	9. Our House

**A/N: ** If it's a big chapter, you know what lies ahead… **Smut**. Yup. Smut and revelations.

Thank you everyone for your awesome reviews, your reblogs, likes, favorites, follows, PMs and whatnot! I walk humbly among you.

Thank you, DeeDee, for helping me decide on storylines and agreeing with me that the most perfect song for these goobers pops up in this chapter. (and mistakes left are mine alone!)

* * *

><p>Last year she had celebrated Christmas with her sister in St Anne's. The cold, salty sea air howling around the house. A Christmas tree, her nieces with their husbands and their children, her nephew with his new boyfriend. Everyone paired up. Happy. They were all very kind. Very polite. They tried to include her in their conversations.<p>

She had never felt so lonely.

She doesn't remember why she had accepted their invitation (because he had not asked her to join him, he had gone to the Crawleys; the old lady liked him and he respected her. He'd had a very good time. She'd hated him for it).

But it is Christmas Day and the house smells of delicious food being warmed up, the table is groaning under the weight of cutlery, stemware and platters of appetizers. The radio plays in the background ("Fairytale of New York" - her favourite Christmas song), conversation flows freely, easily.

She's not had a single drop to drink, but she is feeling warmer than she's done in a long time.

"Elsie!" Beryl calls and she shakes her head to chase away the last of the cobwebs and hurries to her friend.

"How about we do some presents in between courses? I think we all enjoy sitting at the table and none of us are in a hurry."

"I am recording everything I wanted to see today - there's Doctor Who and that show about a posh family with loads of servants, so I have tomorrow completely sorted!" Daisy pipes up in her thick accent. She is looking bright-eyed and cheerful.

"Sounds like a very lovely way to spend your day off and I've no doubt we'll have some leftovers here, so you can take those."

"Oh, there's no need, Mrs Hughes! Mrs Patmore and I went to the shops together to make this dinner and we made sure we'd have something for tomorrow as well! Though I do hope there will be a bit of dessert, because it's my favourite."

Elsie smiled and put her arm around the slim shoulders of the petite girl and kisses her head. "You are a sweetie."

"A sweetie! Ha!" Beryl scoffs in mock disparagement. Daisy immediately looks crestfallen.

"Oh, come here, you daft girl." Now it's Beryl cuddling Daisy and Elsie laughs at Charles's ironic smile.

"You feel the Earth shaking under your feet yet - with all these tidings of comfort and joy?" she asks teasingly and he nods.

"Oh, my poor dear. If you like you can hold my hand to feel a bit more steady?"

She rushes around the table and he takes her hand as she tells her guests it is time for a first round of presents.

They all gather on the sofa, the chair and Daisy makes herself useful by handing out the first present to Anna who takes it and curls up next to Elsie and starts unwrapping.

"Oh! This is lovely! Thank you so much!" Anna holds up a lovely woolen jumper and she immediately puts it on.

* * *

><p>"This is huge, Elsie," he says when he is being handed the biggest gift under the tree.<p>

"Well, they don't come much smaller," she replies, looking at him rather nervously. She's decided on this gift a long time ago; there's a big idea behind it, but now he's sitting there, surrounded by their family, she isn't so sure anymore.

He starts peeling away at the wrapping paper.

"Elsie!"

"Yes?"

"Really… you shouldn't have! The one we have is perfectly fine!" he is being modest, tries to play it down, but she can see how pleased he is and finally breathes easy.

"What is it, Charles?" John asks.

"It's a portable turntable! I used to have one as a lad and I loved it, but when we moved, it turned out it didn't work anymore. I tried to repair it, but to no avail."

"We can take it with us…" Elsie offers, worrying her lip.

"Where?"

"Our honeymoon."

* * *

><p>Charles and John are chatting whilst Beryl is flipping through her present: the newest Ottolenghi. Daisy is curled up on the sofa next to Charles with her new crochet hook and ball of yarn, but she's fallen asleep against Charles's arm.<p>

"She's been up since five," Beryl excuses her young protegé. "She's been cooking since six. And then the excitement of having an actual Christmas with so many people. Normally it's just her and me since her parents died."

"Charles doesn't seem to mind," Elsie says quietly and pauses before continuing: "She looks so young."

"I'll be taking her home soon, best let my dessert settle a bit."

"I'd best get started on clearing up the mess we've made."

"I'll help you with the glasses," Anna offers and Elsie sees the quick look John throws his wife, the hint of a proud smile.

"I'll collect and you rinse," Elsie says and Anna heads for the kitchen. Elsie can hear the tap run as she picks up the empty water glasses from the coffee table.

"Are you alright?" she asks Charles and he smiles at her.

"I'm fine. There's a last present for you when you return from the kitchen," he promises and she leans in to kiss his lips. Daisy makes a soft sound and cuddles up closer.

Charles laughs softly. "You'd never know she is twenty-something."

"No," Elsie cups Daisy's cheek with her free hand, running her thumb over the soft, warm skin. "I think she likes you."

"No, I don't think so. She is normally quite scared of me. Or intimidated, rather."

"Then it must be that she feels safe with you. I can't blame her."

Elsie throws him a last smile before picking up more glasses and retreating to the kitchen.

* * *

><p>Anna is rinsing plates and placing them in the dishwasher, humming to herself.<p>

"Is everything alright?" Elsie asks, joining her girl by the sink, picking up a tea towel, taking a hot, wet glass and drying it.

"Yes, everything is fine. Why?" Anna doesn't look at her - the way she would sometimes look away when she was unwilling to share her pain after her attack.

"You've hardly eaten anything and you are looking a little tired," Elsie says quietly.

"I must say I am rather jealous of Daisy, curled up against Mr Carson," Anna responds with a chuckle.

Elsie doesn't push but dries more glasses, puts them away in the cupboard over the counter. They work together silently. As she puts the last glass away, Elsie can feel Anna tensing up and she holds her breath, finding her girl's warm, slightly moist hand, and squeezes softly.

"It's alright," she says. "Christmas can be so hard…"

"No, that's not it. That's not it at all. It's just…" Anna does turn then and there are tears in her eyes. Elsie reaches out, wipes one away that's spilled onto Anna's cheek.

"I don't know how to keep it from you…"

"Keep what from me? You know you can tell me everything and I'll always be here for you," Elsie says, a little alarmed.

"I'm pregnant…"

Elsie's sudden intake of breath cuts through the silence and she starts to tremble.

"Are you… are you sure?" She squeezes harder now, ignores that rapid pumping of her blood.

"I've taken three tests, they were all positive."

"Oh my God…"

Elsie lets go of Anna's hand, and pulls her so close, kissing her cheek, her hair. "I'm so happy for you…" she whispers.

They stand like that for a long while.

"You won't tell anyone, will you? I mean… it's… only John knows, I've not even called the doctor yet," Ann worries her lip and Elsie sees herself in that small nervous habit.

"I won't… I won't… though - I can't promise."

She'll try not to say anything, but she lives with this man now, this big, burly man who gets under her skin, who knows her, her moods, her thoughts. And she doesn't want to break another promise to Anna. She can't.

"It's alright," Anna says with a small smile. "I understand."

Elsie cups Anna's face again and kisses her brow. "I love you so much, my girl. I am so proud of you."

* * *

><p>"The dishwasher has been immaculately stacked," Elsie says to Charles and he looks up from the manual of his new record player. It stands on the foot end of the bed, denting the covers, all plugged in and ready to go. She shakes her head at him reading the manual. All record players work essentially the same - so she gets undressed quickly and makes her way to the guest room. When she returns with her record he is still reading.<p>

He doesn't look up until the first bars from "Our House" start playing. It's a song that's especially dear to her now she and Charles are living together (and things are going remarkably well. Except from their differences about stacking the dishwasher and her predilection for sleeping in on Sunday mornings - not that she minds being awoken with kisses and the smell of bacon drifting in from the kitchen).

"It works!" he says, rather surprised.

"Of course it does, why wouldn't it?"

"You never know with these retro style things."

"Oh hush…" Elsie crawls into bed, careful not to jostle the record player. Graham Nash sings and she cozies up to Charles. They listen quietly as Charles's arm steals around Elsie's shoulders and she leans against his naked arm. He smells of soap and toothpaste.

_Life used to be so hard / Now everything is easy / Because of you_

He kisses her temple and she sighs. As Christmases go, this easily ranks number one.

"Remember I said I had one more gift for you?" he asks as _4 + 20_ starts playing.

"I do, but I rather thought it would be a very private sort of gift," she teases and is rewarded with a bit of a blush.

"Well.. ahem…" he coughs and then finds his bearings again. "I have it here, but really, you are being so very naughty, Mrs Hughes. I am inclined to let you wait another year."

He is looking very serious and stern and Elsie worries her lip, looking up at him through her eyelashes. "I'll be good, Mr Carson…" she says, her voice husky, her hand running over his thigh.

He's not wearing his pyjama bottoms.

"You'd have to be terribly good, mind," he warns and Elsie leans in to whisper in his ear:

"Oh… you'll find out how _good_ I can be, Mr Carson…"

He coughs again and without another word he hands her a rather large, flat package that she instantly recognises as a record.

She pulls the paper off and is surprised to find it is not a classic.

Or perhaps it is, but a modern classic then. _Babel_ by Mumford & Sons. He has been paying attention to her Friday choices then…

"Thank you," she says simply.

"Would you like to play it?" he asks and he leans over to the Crosley as the last of _Everybody I Love You_ dies away.

Elsie nods. "Yes, please."

Charles gets out of bed and puts the record player on the chair in the corner. Then the record starts spinning and the first song starts playing.

"In the middle of the night…" Charles whispers along and she pulls away the covers, revealing her naked body.

"Happy Christmas, my man," she says and he joins her, kissing her cheek, her shoulder, the soft skin of the inside of her elbow. She doesn't allow him to caress her much further; instead she pushes him back and straddles him. She leans in to kiss him - finally tasting that toothpaste. Her hands are in his hair, his are on her bum, his fingers firmly massaging.

His kisses are so thorough, and his movements so deliberate, she can only kiss him back, touch him. She can feel him under her - hard and ready. She leans back again, rises up on her knees and lowers herself on him.

Stretching, moaning. The pads of his thumbs sliding over her nipples, his hands cupping her breasts as she sways. She moves slowly, relishing having him there, right under her, ending this perfect Christmas in this most perfect way.

_But love the one you hold / And I will be your goal / To have and to hold_

They roll over, she is pinned under him. His touch is light, his scent is in her nose. He rocks her, moves her, the rhythm building as the song speeds up, her moaning drowning out the words. The music strings together, from _Lover Of The Light_ to _Lover's Eyes_ and further and Charles moves her just _so_, her legs around his waist, his lips on the pulsepoint in her neck. He whispers labouredly of his love and devotion, her name, praises to deities above and she is keening, chanting his name.

Profanities fall from her lips, her eyes are closed and she is clawing at his back, trying to get closer, her mind whirling with the first perfect Christmas - the gifts, the food, the company. Daisy falling asleep against Charles shoulder, Anna sharing she is pregnant.

His hand comes between them and she can hear him say something, but she cannot make out the words and he slides his finger over her mound, searching and…

She comes so hard, she forgets how to breathe. Her back arches, lifting her off the bed and he spills inside her, holding her to him.

As she comes down from that dizzying height, she starts crying, overwhelmed by the force of her orgasm and all that the day has brought. He slowly pulls out and rolls on his back, taking her with him. She puts her head on the crook of his shoulder, her tears leaving tracks on his cheeks.

"What's wrong?" he asks, his voice hoarse, tired.

"She is pregnant," Elsie says, unable to filter her words.

"Who is pregnant?"

"Anna… Anna - she's just told me, in the kitchen. She is sure, she's taken a test," her words are separated by sobs.

"Why are you crying? Are you…"

"I am! I am so happy for her - for them…" but she doesn't stop crying.

"Me too," he says solemnly and she looks at him.

"Are you?"

"Of course I am," and he kisses her again, deeply, his arm around her back. "Of course I am…" he says again as he breaks off the kiss.

"Happy Christmas, Elsie."

"Happy Christmas, my love," she replies. She wipes her tears away, snuggles up. Charles puts the duvet over them and they drift off to sleep, dreaming of the future.

* * *

><p><strong>notes:<strong>

* The radio played: Fairytale of New York, by The Pogues, ft. Kirsty MacColl

* Elsie played: Our House, by CSN&Y (and the rest of the album)

* Charles played: Lover of the light & Lover's Eyes by Mumford & Sons (and the rest of the album…)

All songs can be found on YouTube or Spotify (find the Downton Radio playlist, made by 'cobblermom'!)

(for my Germany-based readers: if the songs fall under your harsh copyright laws and don't know them, but would like to hear the fabulousness, send me a PM and I'll try to hit you up)


	10. Pencil Full Of Lead

**A/N: **Thank you everybody for being so wonderful! And today I pass the Bechdel test with my chapter. Yes. I am happy about that!

Thank you, Dee, for sharing the domestic Chelsie feels! (I was so impatient to post, so all mistakes left are completely my own)

* * *

><p>There's newspapers strewn about on the table, reading glasses on top of them. The smell of scrambled eggs and toast and roast tomatoes lingers in the air. The radio plays softly in the background: a program called 'Cappuccino*' that reunites lost friends (and lovers), mellow music accentuating the emotions that sometimes run high in the interviews.<p>

Charles has buttered some toast and she is pouring another cup of tea. The door opens and Anna comes in from the corridor, her hair still slightly damp, looking a bit pale and sleepy. She is staying with them while John accompanies Robert to a conference in Hannover.

"Good morning, pet," Elsie says and pulls the chair away from the table, pours another cup and puts it in front of Anna.

"Morning," Anna says after a few swallows.

"Can I get you anything?" Charles offers. "I can do you some mushrooms, tomatoes, bacon, …"

Anna flees before he can go on and Elsie shakes her head at him. "How can you be so insensitive?" she asks and he looks at her bewildered.

"I was being nice!" he argues and Elsie cannot help but laugh.

"Well, she'll be back shortly, no doubt. Just don't go offering her anything, alright?"

He shrugs grumpily, muttering something about not understanding women. Elsie leans in and whispers in his ear:

"It's morning sickness, my man, not a mystery," then sits back down again, pops a slice of bread in the toaster, turns back the dial and pushes the bread down. When Anna returns - shaking, an unbecoming shade of green - it's just done. Charles is quiet, hides behind the sports section to find Indian cricket test matches.

"I'll make you a nice, weak cup of tea," Elsie says to Anna and Anna starts nibbling on her toast.

"I'm sorry, Anna," Charles then says, still from behind his newspaper. "Are you feeling better now?"

"Yes, thank you, Mr Carson. It usually passes quite quickly."

"Will you be alright, today? Elsie tells me you have quite a day ahead."

"What's that?" she asks, when she returns with Anna's tea.

"That you have a big day planned." He is so open with her, so at ease, even when there is someone else 'invading' their space.

"Yes, it is rather a big day," Elsie winks at Anna, who blushes.

The bell rings not five minutes later and it's a mad dash for shoes, purses and lipstick and Elsie heads out with her girl after kissing her man goodbye, promising him a treat when she returns.

* * *

><p>"Since this is my car and I am already letting you ride up front, I get to choose the music," Beryl says, "And that's final."<p>

They are all piled up in Beryl's bright red car and have decided on a schedule for the day. Charles had not been joking when he said they had a lot to do and they will start at Grantham House to look at the reception rooms and ballroom. It's very generous of the Crawleys to offer their family home. Normally it's open to the public - free for those with a NationalTrust card - but they would close it for the wedding. Today it is closed for refurbishments and Elsie is very pleased to be having her reception and party in a newly renovated grand house.

Beryl manoeuvres the car through the London traffic with ease, singing along loudly (and off-key) with The Shirelles. It is so infectious, Elsie can't help but join in the merrimaking. Anna has made herself comfortable next to her and Daisy is rolling her eyes at Beryl until she gives in and sings along too, saying the song has been covered not long ago and that is why she knows all the words. They arrive at Grantham House and are being shown inside by a chambermaid.

"I trust you'll find everything yourselves? Only the director said she was expecting you and there's a problem with the new carpet they were supposed to fit yesterday."

"Yes, we'll be fine," Beryl says huffily and turns to Elsie. "Looks very different in the light of day."

"Looks very different when you're sober," Elsie adds and the two friends giggle. "Come on, you lot, lets make our rounds and decide on some things on our checklist."

She pulls out her smartphone, pulls up the app with to-do lists and together with the three others, she goes through them quickly, checking the size of the ballroom and the options of having tables set up there, the fire department's guidelines, her guestlist and she scans the room to see where they can have the music set up. While she is being perfectly practical now, Elsie can really see her wedding taking place here and it is somewhat overwhelming. She worries her lip and wishes Charles were there with her.

"Everything will be alright, you'll see," Anna says quietly and points at Beryl and Daisy who are discussing decor and food already. "All you need to know is the number of guests you'll be expecting. You've already chosen invitations and we'll be off to the bridal shop after the cake tasting and then the worst will be over."

"How are you so wise?" Elsie asks warily.

"Oh… I may have learnt from the best," Anna says and kisses Elsie's cheek, triggering a tear to drop. She wipes it away with her sleeve.

"I think I have a lovely idea, Els'!" Beryl rushes over and pulls her friend towards the far corner of the ballroom. Elsie smiles at Anna and Daisy who are whispering.

"Alright, but after this one idea, we'd better get back in the car, because we have a cake tasting session at noon," Elsie warns and Beryl grins.

"Oh trust me, that's not something I am likely to forget!"

* * *

><p>In the car Elsie intervenes and Daisy gets to choose the music. The upbeat rhythm and cheery lyrics of Paolo Nutini's "Pencil Full Of Lead" convince even Beryl as they make their way to a small artisan bakery in a quiet area of Hackney.<p>

"Now be nice, Beryl," Elsie warns. "Last thing we need is a rerun of last year's canape tasting where the chef appeared at the table and the pair of you had a shouting match."

"He was a..." Beryl starts, but Anna saves the conversation by exclaiming at the sight of the bakery annex teashop.

"I'm starving!" She says happily and leaves the car without waiting for the others. Elsie smiles. She only knows of cravings and moodswings through her sister, but she sees a pattern forming already.

It's oddly reassuring. Anna is so tiny, it wouldn't do if she lost too much weight.

Daisy appraises the blackboard. "All these things look delicious!"

"Well, as they say: the proof is in the pudding." Beryl chuckles at her own joke.

They are welcomed by a young man with a Jamaican accent and he leads them to a corner table with a bench filled with cushions and throws.

"Ladies, I'll go and get a kettle on for you and then I'll return with some samples."

"Thank you!" Daisy almost gushes and Beryl throws Elsie a look.

"It's lovely here," Daisy says as she watches their server leave, her eyes lingering on his posterior.

"What have you ordered to try?" Anna asks, unfolding a napkin and putting it on her lap.

"Oh, erm..." Elsie blushes. She'd gone totally overboard when she received the confirmation email from the master baker and had simply chosen everything that struck her fancy. She clears her throat, pulls her phone from her purse and finds the email and starts to read:

"S'mores cake, Toffee Temptation, Mexican Hot Chocolate, Coconut Cream, Orange and Poppyseed, Chocolate and Salted Caramel, Caramel Apple and Glazed Lemon Pound Cake…"

"In other words, you are going to kill us." Beryl grins.

"Perhaps not kill… but I am fully expecting a serious sugar rush," Elsie puts her phone away. The young man who had welcomed them returns with a big tray of mismatched cups, saucers and a big, round-bellied teapot. Daisy starts pouring, looking flushed and shy.

The four women applaud when a two big platters with individual cakes is brought up and they set to work.

* * *

><p>"I couldn't eat another thing…" Elsie groans as she lowers herself on the back seat of the car.<p>

"Nor me…" Daisy says.

"Lightweights," Beryl says, but she looks a little flustered, her cheeks red.

Anna furtively checks her watch.

"I am so glad we've decided against wedding dress shopping," Elsie sighs. "And it is Anna's turn to choose a song."

Anna hands Daisy her phone, who plugs it into the car stereo with a double jack. Joss Stone sings loudly and energetically as they travel from Hackney to Anna's neighbourhood. They've come up with an excuse, something about watering the plants.

The car stops right in front of Anna's flat as Joss sings the final words of "Super Duper Love".

"Thank you ladies for a very lovely day!" Elsie says and leans into the car to peck Daisy on the cheek and quickly run her hand down Beryl's arm. They both wave as they drive off and Elsie turns to Anna.

"Are you ready for this?"

"As I'll ever be, I suppose," Anna swallows hard and Elsie takes her arm, links it through her own and they walk quietly to the practice, where they are rung in. They wait in silence for five minutes before they are being called in. Anna has her NHS card and hands it to the technician, who is a bubbly woman with a shock of purple hair who starts talking immediately.

"Are you excited? Feeling alright? I hope you've read all the info on the leaflet we've sent you. Full bladder?"

Anna nods a little overwhelmed by the onslaught of words.

"Maybe you'd like a moment?" Elsie asks pointedly, throwing the technician a look, who nods.

"Of course. Well. You just pop on here and lift your top." She starts bustling, collecting her tools and Elsie sits down next to Anna and takes her hand, holding it firmly.

"If at any time things are becoming too much, you just speak up," she says and Anna heaves a shuddering sigh.

"Alright, Mrs Bates, let me know when you're ready," the technician has settled between Anna's midsection and a big monitor. She waits patiently, smiling gently at Anna and Elsie.

"Okay, I think I'm ready," Anna grips Elsie's hand a little tighter.

"Are you alright with me lifting your top for you?"

Elsie is amazed by the change in the technician; when they had come in, it seemed as if the young woman was bumbling, but now she is very calm and centered, making Anna feel more relaxed.

"Yes. Yes, okay."

Anna's belly is bared and the process explained. A blueish gel falls, a handheld scanner pressed gently into the softness of Anna's belly.

And there it is:

The swift flickering that indicates a steady heartbeat.

* * *

><p>She is all set up: the Crosley stands in the corner, she has a glass of wine, a few pieces of dark chocolate and "Wish You Were Here".<p>

The bath is full, a bath ballistic is waiting to be dunked into the water. She is undressing slowly in front of the mirror. She stares at herself, cupping her breasts, raising them, sighing deeply. It's the thought of having to put on a wedding dress that's done it. She turns around to look at her bum. That bodypart too has lost some of its former perkiness. She never minds much; in fact, she normally quite likes the look of herself!

After a last lingering glance she lets a record fall from it's sleeve and puts it on the turntable.

She puts up her hair and lowers herself in the steaming water.

As she leans back, the first sounds of "Shine On You Crazy Diamond" fill the air. It's a slow build - as slow as making love on Sunday morning, as the night falling on a bright summer's day. She knows every note, every silence and lets herself be wrapped up in it. Anna's voice filters in - she is Skyping John, showing the first picture of their child, making sure they are both alright. Hannover is so far away - between people who have been separated too long already.

The anger of "Have A Cigar" makes her close her eyes, and then there's the sound of the front door, the typical footfall of her man. His rumbling and the twinkling answer. The door to the bedroom opens, there's the sound of his shoes dropping on the floor, the toilet flushing and finally the door to the bathroom opens.

He is all smiles, happy, pleased.

"I hear all is well!" he says.

"With what?" she responds.

"The baby."

He doesn't shy away from the words and Elsie cannot help but smile back at her beautiful, excited man.

"And we've chosen cake and checked everything at Grantham House."

"Good. Good. Well. Then we can look to the future."

"Yes."

Charles leans in and captures her lips in a kiss. After breaking it off he says:

"I think it is all going to be wonderful."

And she completely agrees.

* * *

><p><strong>notes:<strong>

* This is a Dutch program my parents listen to on Saturday!

* Beryl played: Mama Said, by The Shirelles

* Daisy played: Pencil full of lead, by Paolo Nutini

* Anna played: Super Duper Love, by Joss Stone

* Elsie played: the whole _Wish You Were Here_ album, by Pink Floyd

All cake samples come from Martha Stewart's website, I fully intend to bake these cakes and report back to you!


	11. You Make Loving Fun the wedding, part 1

**A/N:** Thank you guys for reviewing and for giving my post notes on Tumblr! Thank you, **Dee**, for standing by me and convincing me that quitting is bad and all the advice about how weddings actually work. Thank you, **Mel**, for your steadfast support.

**Please review!**

* * *

><p><strong>The wedding, part I - You Make Loving Fun<strong>

* * *

><p>"You look lovely," Beryl says. Her voice is shrill with emotion and she swats Daisy's hands away from Elsie's small bouquet of white roses, soft pink peonies, white anemones and pinecones.<p>

"Thank you for your help, all of you," Elsie says. She is nervous, the same way she got when she was about to go on air for the very first time (when she worked on a ship, a million lightyears ago). She checks herself in the mirror one last time. Beryl, Anna and Daisy had joined her on a mad dash for the perfect dress and she is very happy with what they've come up with. The long white skirt with train, the oatmeal-coloured wrap-around cardigan will be accompanied by an off-white scarf and gloves. Anna has done her hair - it's pulled back and curled, a little fascinator attached to the delicate waves; one of the roses from her bouquet was sacrificed to go on as well. It feels a bit heavy and wobbly, but Anna assures her it is on there safely. The worst that can happen is that it will fall off and even then there's no harm done.

Even though she's warmly dressed, she is shivering. She thinks of the people in the big reception room, waiting for her to walk solemnly past them towards Charles. She wonders if he is nervous too. She's not seen him since last night; the girls were strongly against her spending her 'last night of freedom' at home.

She had spent her evening trying to eat some of Beryl's lovingly cooked meal and going through the last bits and bobs, finally deciding on the music she wanted to walk down the 'aisle' to. She had asked for the last time if Anna was alright with Beryl being the matron of 'honour' (and they had all heartily joked about Beryl's annoyance about being called 'matronly', to which Elsie had cheekily answered that Beryl was hardly a maid, nor all that honourable).

"Elsie?" Beryl checks Daisy's phone. "It's really time to get going, lass."

"I know," Elsie sighs. She clears her throat. Checks her lipstick one more time.

"Let's get married."

* * *

><p>The music is the exact volume she'd requested - Anna is a fabulous technician and Elsie is thankful that her girl had suggested this song. There are no lyrics, only music. Anna had shown her the music video on YouTube: elderly vandalists in perfect golden light. Sigur Ros are an Icelandic post-rock band, minimalist. Dreamy. "Hoppipolla" is perfect. Charles is looking dashing in his grey suit and crisp white shirt - he isn't wearing a tie, which is rather surprising.<p>

He is, however, wearing a beaming smile and she blushes under his look.

The room is filled to bursting, but she hardly sees them - only her sister's little, excited nod, her nephew's boyfriend's wink. When she finally reaches Charles, she hands Anna her bouquet and takes her place before the officiant. The actual ceremony is short. There's the repeating of standard lines that she's heard a thousand times before, but that suddenly take on meaning. She is happy to have given Charles his way; she had thought it would be enough to say 'I do', but to repeat the ancient lines (she is glad they've modified them - she will _never_ say she'll obey her husband) is wonderful, magical almost.

"I pronounce you husband and wife together. You may kiss the bride."

Charles leans in, she puts her hand below his collarbone and his lips brush hers softly. The room bursts into applause and Elsie leans against Charles. His arms wrap around her and he cuddles her close. She blushes as she hears Beryl whistle from the first row.

"Hey," he says.

"Hey," she smiles back and they kiss again.

The music starts and Elise laughs at Charles's choice - a surprise for her. 'You Make Loving Fun' sounds clearly in the room. Fleetwood Mac. It's perfect. His arm around her waist is perfect. The happy faces of their family are perfect. They make their way to the end of the aisle and are whisked away by one of the ushers to a quiet room on the first floor.

* * *

><p>"We're married... " Elsie says and she can hear how her voice is filled with wonder.<p>

"Not a moment too soon," Charles quips and he opens a bottle of champagne with the routine motions of someone who has a lot of experience. He fills two glasses and holds his up to her.

"To my beautiful bride. I love you," he says, simple words, deep meaning.

Elsie blushes - it is a day for flushing and happiness and sparkling eyes.

"I love you too," she replies.

They drink from their champagne. Slow sips, the bubbles tickling her nose. After a few moments she puts down her glass, takes Charles's and launches herself into his arms. He can only just remain upright, but his arms wrap around her tight and they kiss. Hotly, needy. Tongues dancing, dueling, lips pressing. The sound of their breath echoing in the room. She doesn't care about her lipstick - or that it will end up all over Charles's face. All she wants is to be close to him now, to have this moment, feast on it.

They break apart when there's a knock on the door and the voice of Edith Crawley (Robert's beautiful, quiet, sad middle daughter who had jumped at the opportunity to be the wedding photographer - an actual paid gig is rare for her and Elsie likes her work, is happy to have chosen Edith to record their special day) accompanies it:

"The sun has come out!"

* * *

><p>Anna helps her with her scarf and gloves and re-applies her lipstick with a little smirk on her lips.<p>

"Stoppit," Elsie says, yet another blush gracing her cheeks.

Anna doesn't respond, simply checks if Elsie's accessories are all firmly in place. She is looking happy and relaxed. It's been such a long time coming and suddenly Elsie is overwhelmed with emotion, gathering her girl in her arms, and hugging her close. The bump where the baby grows presses against her own belly - a reminder of how far Anna's come since that fateful day, two years ago.

"Thank you, darling," she whispers, her voice hoarse. Anna only nods.

"I'd like some group shots to start with here on the stairs and then the guests can all go back to their cocktails when the wedding party has all their shots outside in the garden. Mama has ordered some beautiful fixtures as a present!" Edith announces happily from around the door post.

* * *

><p><strong>notes:<strong>

Walking down the aisle: Hoppipolla, by Sigur Ros

Recessional: You Make Loving Fun, Fleetwood Mac

Guys, get ready for a ton of music in part II of the big Downton Radio wedding! (also, you may want to get a hanky ready, there will be a poignant moment!) And please, don't hesitate to let me know what you thought of this first part - your encouragement means a lot to me.


	12. Maybe I'm Amazed - the wedding, part 2

**A/N:** Thank you, everybody for your reblogs and tweets! Thank you for reviewing. Thank you, Dee, for all your help. Thank you, Mel, for listening to me whinge. That's a lot of thanking people - and then a request: please do review. I know it takes a bit of time, but truly, it is so very much appreciated.

* * *

><p><strong>The wedding, part II - Maybe I'm Amazed<strong>

* * *

><p>When they return, the guests are having cocktails and are making good use of the hot-chocolate bar in the corner of the ballroom. There are tables on one side, and instead of a big dinner, they are doing tapas all evening long so everyone can stay for the party and mingle. Elsie knows that weddings are occasions where people meet who haven't seen each other in a long time - it would be a pity to have them stuck at tables instead of getting the opportunity to (re)connect.<p>

Charles and Elsie are being congratulated, hugged and kissed. Hands are shaken, more cocktails poured. Elsie drinks Prosecco, Charles has a tumbler of Scotch. They are holding hands when they can; in the background is the murmur of their friends and family chatting. Elsie is taking in the decor of the room - the lit candles, pine cones, branches of evergreens. The crisp white linen, the birch tree coasters: everything is exactly how she'd hoped it would be and it all contributes to an almost fairytale-like atmosphere.

"Come on, love, Beryl is going to blow her top if we don't get to the cake now!" Charles wakes her from her reverie.

"I think you just want cake." She puts her drink on the table and lets Charles take her hand. They walk over to the sideboard where a rather large cake is waiting for them.

"What flavour did you choose?" Charles asks in a stage whisper.

"I don't remember!" Elsie replies in the same way.

People are chuckling as they hear the newlyweds put on their radio act for their guests.

"Could be the Mexican hot chocolate…" Elsie suggests.

"Could be coconut cream…" Charles responds. His hand is on her lower back and she picks up the knife. His hand wraps around hers and she cuts into the beautiful cake - finding it difficult to destroy such a work of art.

They slice a small piece of cake and put it on a plate. Charles breaks off a piece and offers it to her as she gives him a bite.

"Coconut Cream!" "S'mores!" they say at the same time and there is a wave of loud laughter. As they finish their bites, they kiss again, tasting of salted caramel and chocolate.

The staff comes in to roll away the cake to cut it and Elsie swiftly picks up her plate with half a slice of the cake. She gives her _husband_ another bite.

* * *

><p>They make their way to a table and settle down next to Phyllis Baxter and Joe Molesley - both rather shy members of their Downton Radio crew. There is the tinkling sound of a knife tapping against a glass. John Bates is standing up; the crowd falls silent.<p>

"My name is John Bates and I have known Charles Carson - and Mrs Hughes - for going on fifteen years. We met on my first day - I opened the door to his small office by accident. Which left a bad impression. But over the years we've come to respect each other. And as our wives," John raises his glass to Anna, to Elsie, "are very close, it's no wonder we were thrown together when he and Elsie became a couple.

"Charles is a solitary man; he is erudite, strong, dependable. All qualities I greatly admire and respect. And at first I thought of him as a very stern man, like the headmaster of an all-boys prep-school." There is a ripple of quiet chuckling and Charles shrugs a bit, a self-deprecating smile adorning his lips.

"But I have gotten to know him better and I know that underneath all that steely, strict facade he has a great sense of humour and of justice. And possibly one of the biggest hearts I've ever encountered. I could tell you stories about this man doing small kindnesses to those close to him - but I won't, because it would embarrass him. Those on the receiving end of his care and friendship know what I mean.

Amongst their guests people nod seriously.

"Now, I've known Elsie about as long as I've known Charles and my Anna, but she plays a very different role in my life. She is like a mother-in-law and favourite auntie rolled into one. She is the only one I know who can make Charles laugh out loud. She is the only one who truly knows him, I think. And I think that Charles brings out all the best - and worst… - in Elsie. They balance each other out. They share a passion for music and radiomaking, but also for Italian food and red wine.

"Elsie and Charles have been constants in our rocky lives and we are thankful for their presence and I want to wish them every happiness and joy in their new lives.

"To the bride and groom!"

People raise their glasses, cheer, clink. Elsie can see Charles is touched by the kind speech of his best man. Much of what's been said is true: whilst not particularly introverted, Charles is a bit of a hermit. He knows a lot of people, but isn't particularly close to anyone - in fact, Elsie is almost certain that before 'getting together' he'd have named her as his best friend. Choosing his best man had not been easy. He had thought about asking Robert (after all they went way back, but it didn't feel right) until Elsie had suggested asking John Bates.

As the applause dies down, Beryl stands up (and is just about the same height she was when sitting down; she is tiny compared to the men she has surrounded herself with) and clears her throat before plunging into her own speech.

"I've known Elsie for a very long time. It was just me, Charles and her when _Downton Radio_ started. We didn't always get along at first - there were squabbles about keys to the cabinets where the records were kept, to-do's about what you can and cannot say on air." she looks pointedly at Elsie, who shrugs.

"But I doubt anyone has ever had a friend like Elsie. She is stronger than most, kinder than most. You can call her in the middle of the night with troubles or worries and she'll grant you a listening ear and heartfelt advice. She'll keep your secrets - both joyous and heartbreaking and she will never believe you when you tell her she is beautiful. She has a firm idea of her worth though. And don't you let all that cheerfulness and Scottish lilt lull you into a false sense of security. For those who need a friend she is a friend, for those who need a carer, she is an auntie, a mother. For those without family, she is a sister.

And now a wife." Beryl takes a sip of her bright green drink and continues.

"Looking back at it, I think Elsie Hughes has been Charles Carson's work wife for decades. She knew his schedule, his likes and dislikes, the way he'd forget to check his tie in the mirror. She reminded him to make appointments at the dentist's, asked after his health and accompanied him to concerts, the theatre and the occasional function - always looking stunning and poised. She's been able to twist him 'round her little finger since they've known each other.

"Things changed. Dare I say 'finally'? Yes, I think I do. Finally things changed. Because I knew Elsie and I knew she was in love with that big man - that oblivious man who knew the names of all the crew who worked on Neil Young's _Harvest_, but didn't see the woman offering her love in front of him, even if he was in love with her himself. And I told her to take a chance. And she did. She played 'Open Your Heart' and things started happening.

I may have pushed them in the right direction a bit."

The guests laugh - fueled by Beryl's engaging storytelling and their drinks.

"And look at them! Charles Carson accidentally proposing on the air! Elsie Hughes accepting! And I know from a reliable source that they were curled up in his chair whenever they listened to her choice of the week. Canoodling, if you will. Well. They deserve it. All the canoodling and happiness and playing records till the end of their days."

She lifts her cocktail, the guests follow her example and she gives them a final toast:

"To Elsie Carson and Charles Hughes!"

* * *

><p>"Ladies and gentlemen!" The smooth voice of Thomas Barrow rings through the ballroom. He is looking very handsome in a perfectly tailored suit. Suave. "Let's dim the lights and finish our drinks: it is time for the newlyweds to open the ball!"<p>

Elsie smiles widely at Thomas (who is flanked by a curly-haired Army lieutenant whose eyes have been greatly damaged by a roadside bomb in Afghanistan, but who is by all means a gentle soul) - she has forgiven him his indiscretion of months ago - and looks at Charles expectantly.

"What?" he asks, taking another sip of his scotch and soda.

"First dance, darling," she is tapping her foot impatiently and awaits his hand.

He takes his time, nods to Anna who is waiting by the stereo (they had opted for an iTunes set-up instead of a live band, being in radio it felt more _right_). Elsie is expecting 'La Vie En Rose', wanting to have one classic playing, maybe even a cliché. And she knows they'll be able to dance to that without making a fool of themselves.

But those first notes are not those of a grand orchestra. In fact, it's Paul McCartney simply throwing out the lyrics. Charles is grinning and grabs her hand.

"Come on," he says, "Let's show them how it's done."

Before she knows it she is floating in his arms, past their friends, family. There is more cheering, more whistling, but she doesn't mind. She only focuses on Charles and keeps thinking that she'll have to remember this day for the rest of her life.

And that it won't be hard.

At all.

* * *

><p>After that first dance, the party really gets started. Elsie dances to Beyoncé's 'Crazy In Love' with her girls, a strong drink in one hand and her plate of tapas forgotten on the table. There's another round of <em>Strictly<em> with Charles to Roy Orbison's 'Pretty Woman' and she kisses away his scowl when everybody dances to Pharrell's 'Happy'. They smooch, their inhibitions lessened by the copious amount of drink and they slow dance to Joe Cocker's 'You Are So Beautiful'. Of which Charles apparently knows the lyrics.

Which he whispers in her ear. As far as he's able to whisper with that deep, rumbling voice.

As she looks around the ballroom she sees John and Anna kiss in a dark corner - his hand on her belly, hers on top of his. Phyllis Baxter and Joe Molesley are dancing - tentatively testing their limits and boundaries. Elsie digs her elbow in Charles's ribs when she sees Beryl snogging Mr Mason.

Daisy is sitting at a table by herself.

"Would you ask her to dance, Charles?" she covertly points at the girl who is staring forlornly into the distance.

"Yes, when there's a song I can actually dance to."

"Don't be grumpy. I'll find you something." She kisses his cheek, puts her drink down and hurries to the stereo setup. She clicks routinely and queues the next song.

Charles checks his shoelaces and goes to Daisy. Elsie sees them talk, Charles calm, fatherly, Daisy a little sad. The song eases into Elsie's choice and she sees Charles's little nod of recognition.

He takes Daisy onto the dance floor and moves slowly, carefully. Not pulling her too close, not leaning in. She can see his lips move and she knows Charles must have memorized these lyrics too - The Everly Brothers 'All I Have To Do Is Dream'.

Daisy is tiny in Charles's arms; she looks pleased. Like she belongs. When they dance past her, Elsie can hear Charles sing. As the song continues and Charles spins Daisy around, the girl's smile widens. Elsie sighs. Everyone is happy. Contented.

It is time to find her cardigan, her gloves and scarf and her luggage and call a taxi.

They have a sleeper to Dundee to catch.

* * *

><p><strong>notes:<strong>

At the reception/party, we've heard (in the correct order):

The first dance that wasn't: La Vie En Rose, by Edith Piaf

The first dance that was: Maybe I'm Amazed, by Paul McCartney

Party: Crazy In Love, by Beyoncé

Party: Pretty Woman, by Roy Orbison

Party: Happy, by Pharrell Williams

Party: You Are So Beautiful, Joe Cocker

Charles and Daisy danced to: All I Have To Do Is Dream, by the Everly Brothers

* * *

><p><strong>AN2:** Now, I could leave it here - but I could give you a honeymoon and a bit of a happily ever after. Please let me know what you think. Your thoughts are important to me.


	13. Lay Lady Lay

**A/N:** Thank you all for the looooove! You are awesome and I love you. Now - it's time for the honeymoon. I think you know what that means: sleeper trains to Scotland (personal dream - why not please myself for my fiftieth fic?) and shagging. Yup. I can safely say this chapter isn't quite safe for work. Or not at all, rather… Enjoy!

My beta is having some actual real life action happening, so today's chapter comes with a side of missing semicolons and weird grammar.

Dee, my darling dear - allow me to keyboard smash! djsgvilkvfdtsv o;7 0 867vrfdyghjblhqrnjh;jt'rwgfnbcotnyuvj

* * *

><p>"You know, I'd expected more comfort for the price we've paid for this," Elsie says as she tries to get comfortable. She is draped halfway over Charles - claiming you don't spend your wedding night in separate beds.<p>

He had corrected her, said 'berths' and she had smacked him on the bum and they had kissed and fondled a bit. Until she had fallen on the floor. She had resisted the urge to make a joke about now forever being a fallen woman. Not that it would have been funny anyway.

She had scrambled up - still wearing the lovely, luxurious lingerie she had treated herself to. "Lay back," she had whispered loudly to get over the sound of the steel wheels on the tracks. She had straddled him, laying on top of him first and then she had gotten up.

And bumped her head.

"Everything is conspiring against us."

Her head is buzzing from copious amounts of prosecco, her is belly full with the beautiful tapas and wedding cake. Her heart is full of love for this big, beautiful man under her.

"Hmm…"

She can actually feel him fall asleep. He must have been as nervous as she was and he did not have the cheerful company of close friends to help him through the night (or a friend who wordlessly hands you half a Xanax).

"I love you," she says softly and kisses his cheek.

"Hmmm… you too…" he mumbles.

He snores softly after a few minutes. It's not what she had expected of her wedding night, but it's okay. Somehow it is quite wonderful to be so comfortable and secure. Maybe sleeping is as intimate as making love.

* * *

><p>They arrive at the hotel around eleven. He helps her out of the taxi (he is so good at that kind of thing: holding doors, pouring wine, helping you on and off a train). The short train of her skirt dislodges the gravel of the drive. She feels silly to be wearing her wedding clobber - Charles simply looks stunning in his gray suit and camel coat, a scarf carefully careless around his neck. The cabbie puts their cases on the front steps and drives off. Charles and Elsie stand together, hand in hand, their eyes fixed on the magnificent facade. A concierge comes through the double doors and welcomes them, asking them about their journey, making pleasant conversation.<p>

Elsie signs the register - a big, old fashioned one: heavy paper, leather cover.

_Mr and Mrs Carson, London_

Actually putting her name down takes her breath away for a moment - even though they'd had a bit of a tiff about her not really wanting to take his name (of course she would in the end: she is not particularly attached to 'Hughes', but she needed him to understand that if he was not willing to take her name, he couldn't expect her to take his - equal in all. Only with better breasts).

Her new name stares back at her:

_Elspeth Carson-Hughes_

Good heavens.

"Are you ready?" he asks, the keys to their room dangling from between his finger and thumb.

"Yes, I think so."

"Good." He smiles brilliantly, warming her more thoroughly than her outfit does.

He picks up their suitcases and Elsie gets the portable turntable and follows her husband up the wide mahogany stairs to their room.

* * *

><p>The room is beautiful. She had not expected Charles to book the bridal suite, but she is glad he did: there is a big bed, view of the park, a large tub with one of those rain showerheads. A working fireplace. The room service menu, which she picks up after putting the turntable on the small desk. Charles has found a bottle of champagne in the mini fridge and a punnet of strawberries.<p>

"You've chosen so well, Charles."

"Thank you, I am glad it meets with your approval," he says with a smile and a little bow.

"You - _you_ meet with my approval," she replies and unties the belt of her wrap-around cardigan, toes off her UGG boots (Daisy had recommended them, saying they would be comfortable and lovely and warm and nobody would see them under her long skirt anyway) and walks the four steps over to her _husband_.

"How about we… erm…" she starts, cupping his cheek with her hand (he even shaved on board the train - she is so impressed with him, hopes he doesn't mind the bit of stubble that is adorning her legs).

"What?"

He is staring at her. At the glimpse of skin he can see through the small opening of her cardigan, the lace of her bra, her cleavage pushed up to its full potential.

"We didn't get to make the most of our wedding night..." She continues, running her fingers down his jaw, the side of his neck, dipping it under his tie-less collar.

He smells of aftershave and his hair product. He is looking fresh and rested. She doubts she does; she has a bit of a hangover (just a faint headache, just a need for several glasses of water) and she's not slept at all well. The train shook, Charles snored, the berth was narrow. But the bed here is wide, the covers soft and deep.

She starts undoing the buttons of his shirt, pushes his jacket off his shoulders.

"There's makeup on your collar," she says.

"Must be from all that dancing," he replies before leaning in and kissing her softly.

His hands come to rest on her shoulders, his fingers wander under her bra straps. She pulls his vest from his trousers, palms him through the fabric. He moans into her mouth.

He pulls back "Wait…"

He turns, opens his suitcase and pulls out an album (they've packed several, neither looking what the other is bringing). "There is something I've always wanted to do…"

He kicks off his shoes on his way to the turntable, opens it, pulls the record from its sleeve and puts it down. There's the telltale crackling of an album often played and the first bars of the slide guitar. He beckons her and she goes to him, unzips her skirt, letting it pool on the floor, stepping out and pulling her cami over her head. He is pulling off his socks, hurrying out of his trousers, his shirt, his vest.

"You are very beautiful," he says and she crashes into him, her lips on his, insisting. His hands are on her back, pulling her closer. He is warm and his skin is soft under her fingertips. She's longing for him fiercely and she is happy to find he is pushing her towards the bed and he lays her down gently. He kisses a trail from the dip between her collarbones to her navel.

Bob Dylan sings about a woman sprawled on a bed and she lets her head fall back further, closes her eyes as Charles unbuttons her garters, unclips it. She can hear it fall but can't be bothered to find out where as he hooks his fingers under the elastic of her underwear and pulls them down, kissing the indentations it leaves behind. The top of her mound. The small strip she's meticulously groomed. His tongue just _there_… Her hips lift off the bed, she lets out a strangled whimper. His hand under her thigh, his face against her. Her fingers gripping his hair (unruly curls, silver and springy) she is making noises that echo off the walls. Dylan's lady stays while the night is still ahead - when she opens her eyes Elsie can see the sun shine brightly through the large bay windows of the suite.

His fingers join his mouth, caressing, teasing, dipping, curling.

Overwhelming sensation and she can't hold on, can't enjoy it the way she normally would. She wants him close, she needs him to be with her, not simply give her pleasure (that can wait until tonight). "Stop…" she breathes. She is panting, knows her face will be an unbecoming shade of read. He looks up from halfway her body.

"Too much…" she says and he smiles, wipes his mouth with the sheet and she finds she doesn't mind. He comes up to lie beside her and she is still catching her breath when he rolls over and wraps his arms around her.

"Maybe you can turn off Dylan," she says - she likes that they've started out on that particular song, that she's been able to fulfill a fantasy of Charles 's?, but the nasal croon is getting on her nerves.

"Is there something else you'd like?" he asks, slowly getting up.

"No. Just you."

She watches him - still-firm bottom, broad shoulders, long legs. She bites her lip not to laugh at his erection bobbing up and down with every step, but he's back in bed with her before she has to really stifle her chuckles.

So inappropriate.

Honestly.

He leaves her not much time to think - he slides her bra straps from her shoulders, deftly unfastens the garment and has her naked on the bed in mere seconds. His hands slide over her stocking-clad calves, finger the top edges that are coming down her thighs.

She thinks of Faithless, the line that is so evocative in 'Insomnia': makin' mad love to my girl on the heath / tearing off tights with my teeth - but Charles is more gentle, rolling them down slowly, slowly, every inch accompanied by kisses, pressure from his hands.

She is impatient, sits up, pulls her other stocking down with practiced ease, holds on to her man's shoulders and lets herself come up on her knees. She wraps her arms around his neck, kisses him, forcing his lips apart (not exactly forcing - a quick little lick to his bottom lip did the trick) and their tongues dance, duel. She sighs happily when his hands roam her back, squeeze her bottom, come up to the front to gently caress her breast. His thumb tracks the small scar that is slowly fading to a silvery line. His hot tongue on her nipple, his cock against her hip. He pushes her back and she lets her legs fall open wide.

He settles between her knees, his hand wanders from the inside of her knee to her folds. He parts her, touches her and her scent fills the room.

"Oh god, Elsie…" he mutters, "You're so wet…"

He is not usually very wordy and this just sends her into overdrive. She moans as he enters her slowly. She is pushing back against the headboard of the bed, spurring him on. This is not time for slow and leisurely. She wants him, she wants him to take her, pound her, shake her through until she is begging for release.

The bed is creaking under their efforts and she is not thinking of anything. Except for the weight of her man on top of her, the sound of their flesh slapping together, the creaking of the bed. He is moving her expertly (he's been so good ever since that first time and he's been learning what makes her soar, storing each of her pants and moans in his mind for further research). His fingertips are digging into her hips, her nails are raking down his back. He is hitting that sweet spot with every thrust and she feels herself getting closer and closer, the build up delicious agony.

"Don't stop…" she urges him and he leans in closer, puts one hand on her bottom, palming it.

"Never," he moans, but she can feel he is getting tired and he has been on the edge for a bit now.

Letting go of his back, she lets one hand fall beside her face and she licks the fingers of her other hand and lets it snake between their bodies. She touches herself, feels how she reacts to it, how he does and he pushes harder, thrusts deeper and she is keeping, panting, moaning. She curses, once, twice:

"Dammit, Charles, don't… don't… don't… Oh, _god_!"

Her toes curl, her eyes squeeze shut, her breath hitches. She can feel a surge of wetness, the contracting of herself around him and he thrusts a few more times before spilling inside.

He can barely hold himself up and she nods, her eyes still closed. "It's okay…" she says breathlessly. Her heart is beating fast and she can't seem to catch her breath. Her whole body is humming with her release. He rolls off her, gently pulling out of her. He gathers her in his arms and she puts her head on his shoulder.

His heart is beating loudly, she can feel it where she lays.

"If this is what it is going to be like now we're married…" she starts, but she doesn't continue.

Charles has already fallen asleep.

* * *

><p>They have ordered roomservice and are eating sandwiches and custard tarts on the bed. Elsie has turned on the radio to listen to Beryl's show. They are feeding each other strawberries and drinking champagne when Beryl tells her story of the wedding to the world:<p>

As you all know I was a witness for the big wedding and I just want you all to know that everything went very well. The bride looked stunning beautiful, the groom was dashing - I have to admit it! - and the food was delicious. I still have a piece of their wedding cake in my fridge to enjoy later tonight. The party was great and the newlyweds opened with 'Maybe I'm Amazed' by Paul McCartney. One of Mr Carson's favourites. They snuck off into the night to go on their honeymoon. We never even got the chance to give them a proper send off! Mr Carson and Mrs Hughes - well, Mrs Carson now - will return on the air on Wednesday, when they've come home from their honeymoon. Now, I am not telling you where they are, it's more than my life's worth, but I do think I know what they are doing, so, Daisy - start the track. Parental advisory and such - well, you know the drill!"

Elsie and Charles look at each other in alarm. Beryl is well-known for her practical jokes and inappropriate music choice. She is utterly and completely shameless.

The sound of a Hammond organ.

The sexual moaning of Jane Birkin… her breathy "Je t'aime… ah, oui… je t'aime…"

Elsie's hand flies to her mouth, Charles's eyes are wide with horror.

_Moi non plus…_

_Oh mon amour…_

_Comme la vague irresolue_

_Je vais, je vais et je viens_

_Entre tes riens…_

Charles jumps off the bed and tears to the radio, which he switches off after some struggling.

He is looking at her, shocked, not-understanding and he is standing there, so big and broad and tall, in the hotel's robe, his bare feet sinking into the deep carpet and she cannot help it.

She laughs. Loudly, joyously.

* * *

><p>It takes a long time until he's calmed down. He was rather upset, not just with Beryl for playing the banned song (well, no longer banned - and Elsie feels that if they are allowed to play 'Blurred Lines' you should be allowed to play this kitschy gem from the Sixties), but with her for making so merry about it.<p>

But they have found an all-music station and are under the covers, petting and fondling to the sound of Santana. Slow rhythm, smooth guitar. There are no lyrics. The track is long, seductive. Samba Pa Ti is over four minutes long and for three of those, Charles has been running his hand over her labia without parting her and she is going slightly crazy with desire.

"I love you…" he says softly and she crouches down the covers before repeating the words to him.

"I love you too, my love."

* * *

><p><strong>notes: <strong>

Charles played: Lay Lady Lay - Bob Dylan

Elsie thought of: Insomnia, by Faithless

Beryl played: Je T'Aime Moi Non Plus - Serge Gainsbourg and Jane Birkin (banned in the UK for a good while!)  
>The radio played: Samba Pa Ti - Santana<p> 


	14. Ain't got no - I got life

**A/N:** Thank you, Dee, for all your beta-work.

This was my fiftieth fic. I wanted to do something I had never done before and I wanted to do something with my love for music. I think it turned out pretty okay. Please don't hesitate to review one last time for this fic - your support has meant so much to me and continues to sustain me when things get rough.

* * *

><p>They are standing so close, they can see Lindsey Buckingham's fingers pick at the strings of his guitar. Elsie is amazed at how well he looks, how he still has that mop of curly hair (and she'll not tell Charles she used to have a major crush on this man - he doesn't always need to know everything). She is singing along with the song - not as plaintively as Lindsey does, but unabashedly, without a trace of shame. Charles is standing close to her, nodding along with the music. He has a plastic glass of water in his hand, his other is on her shoulder. He pulls her close now and then, leans in to ask if she is having fun.<p>

The music is loud, the crowd is enthusiastic. Elsie has seen the band play before, but they are in great form tonight and there isn't as much tension as there was in the Eighties. After the applause it's Stevie Nicks's time, who fulfills every promise of mystical songstress. The crowd is silent; 'Landslide' is a delicate song compared to 'Big Love' and Elsie feels something buzz against her thigh.

Her phone.

Who could possibly be calling her tonight? she thinks and then it dawns on her.

She pulls her phone from her pocket.

She has thirty-seven missed calls and texts. She goes through the texts that are growing more and more desperate in tone.

**From: John**

_Anna is in labour. She is asking for you. Please come_

"Charles!" She grabs his plastic cup of water and puts it on the floor, takes his hand and starts pulling him out of the crowd. He is resisting, uncomprehendingly keeping her back.

"Are you quite well?" he asks with great irritation.

Elsie pushes her phone under his nose. He has to squint and it takes a while, but then he nods, lets out a tremendous breath and parts the crowd like a white, middle-aged Moses. They don't speak on their way to the car. Elsie goes to pay the parking ticket, Charles starts their little Vauxhall and picks her up at the machine.

They drive in silence too until Elsie can no longer bear it and turns on the radio.

Pushing rhythm, the greatest conviction in the voice of Nina Simone naming all she hasn't got. And all she does. Elsie puts her hand on Charles's leg.

_I got my arms, got my legs / got my fingers, got my nails / got my feet, got my toes / got my liver, got my blood / I got life_

He throws her a look before focusing on the road again.

"What a moment to choose to enter the world," Elsie says. Her voice is a little hoarse. She hadn't noticed she is this emotional, but she is. She can feel her tears bubbling just under the surface.

"At least we'll never forget it."

"I hope everything is going alright…" Elsie stares out the window, looking at the traffic they are passing by. Charles is being very careful not to break the speed limits, not to run any red lights.

When they arrive at the hospital, he tells her to go on up, that he'll find her, but she shakes her head.

"I need you close."

* * *

><p>The maternity ward is on the third floor and they stand in the lift. Charles is holding her hand - it's cold and clammy, but he doesn't seem to care.<p>

"I don't know…" she starts and finds she doesn't even know the words to what she is trying to say.

"Everything will be fine," he assures her, but she sees his Adam's apple bob up and down and knows he is as nervous as she is.

"Why didn't she call me before? I mean - she must have been in labour before the concert started, don't you think?"

"I don't know, Elsie. It is not something I have ever thought about before."

The doors open with a 'ding' and they hurry across the corridor to the reception desk. It is quiet. There is not a single person waiting on the wooden bench halfway down the hall.

"Yes? How can I help you?" a nurse asks from behind a computer screen.

"We're here for Anna Bates, she's supposed to be in labour," Elsie says, the muscles in her neck tensing almost painfully.

"Oh yes! She is in room number three. Everything is going splendidly. I have a note here she's been asking for 'Elsie'? Is that you?"

Elsie nods. "Yes, yes, that's me."

"Great, I'll show you. Maybe granddad would prefer to wait in the waiting room?"

Elsie looks at Charles, who is colouring slightly and nods.

"It's alright. I'll find you…"

She watches him go in the opposite direction as she follows the nurse to the room. The nurse knocks, peeks around the doorframe and asks something that Elsie doesn't understand.

"You best hurry, the baby is already crowning!" the nurse says enthusiastically.

Elsie passes the nurse and finds herself in a small, white room, her girl in bed covered by a sheet, a machine hooked up that beeps and bleeps. Her cheeks are flushed, strands of hair are stuck wetly to her forehead. She has John in a death grip. Neither of them is looking up at her.

She shrugs off her coat, rolls up her sleeves and takes her place beside Anna, putting her hand on her shoulder.

"Where were you?" Anna asks through gritted teeth.

"Fleetwood Mac," Elsie answers.

The midwife chuckles and orders Anna to push.

An unearthly groan passes Anna's lips and she hangs on tight to her husband. "It _hurts_!" she exclaims and swears loudly, but bears down nonetheless.

The sound of a baby's first angry crying fills the room.

The midwife hands Anna her child. Elsie steps back, simply looks on in quiet awe.

"Hello… " She hears Anna say. "I'm your mummy… I've been waiting for you…"

Elsie has to turn around so the new parents don't see her weep.

* * *

><p>"Charles?"<p>

He is pacing the waiting room, which is empty save for him. He turns abruptly at the sound of her voice.

"And?" he asks.

"They'd like to see you."

"Is everybody alright?" She can see him shaking and she rushes over, wraps her arms around him.

"Everyone is very tired and happy and perfect."

He sags slightly with relief. She kisses him quickly. "Come on."

They walk down the corridor, hand in hand. Elsie knocks and they are being called in and find Anna sitting up against the headboard, supported by several pillows, freshly showered and tired looking. John is sitting next to her, her small hand in his big bear paw. The baby is in a plexiglass crib and they are looking from the visitors to their baby.

Charles lets go of Elsie's hand and kisses Anna's forehead. "Congratulations."

"Thank you… Would you like to see her?"

Charles leans over the crib and bites his lip. Elsie sidles up next to him.

"Isn't she beautiful?" she asks him and he nods.

"You can pick her up if you want, there is something we want to ask Elsie," Anna says from the bed, her voice hoarse and broken.

So very carefully Charles lifts the newborn up in his big hands and cradles her close to his chest. Elsie finds it hard to tear her eyes away from him. Seeing him like this adds yet another facet of him to love.

"Elsie?" It's John who's calling her now and she turns, takes a seat on a hard wooden folding chair.

"Yes?"

"We have decided on a name for the baby and we wanted to share it with you first."

"We wanted to name our girl after you, because you mean a lot to us. You've been here for us , looking after us, caring for us and that is why…" Anna swallows hard before continuing.

"But we also knew you'd think we couldn't inflict a name like Elspeth on an unsuspecting child."

Elsie is reminded of those words she once spoke to Anna about her own name and how she had hated it as a teenager especially.

"So we thought of something else," John takes over and in the background she can hear Charles sing to the baby:

_Dashing away with a smoothing iron / Dashing away with a smoothing iron / She stole my heart away_

"We've decided on calling her Nora Carolyn Elizabeth."

* * *

><p>"<em>What a splendid day it is, isn't it, Mrs Carson?"<em> Charles says. She is curled up on his lap and takes in his happy smile and dark circles under his eyes. His hand is on her cheek.

"_It is a wonderful day, Mr Carson. I've not known a happy day as this one before."_ She puts her hand over his.

"_Not even when you married me?"_

"_Well, that day comes close, I admit, but no. No, it's not every day you see a child being born."_

"_Ladies and gentlemen, you may be a little confused, allow me to shed some light on the conversation. Last night, around half past nine, Mary Crawley's producer, Anna Bates, gave birth to a beautiful baby girl and Mrs Carson was privileged to be present at the birth."_

Elsie's breath hitches a moment before she speaks clearly into the mic:

"_It was incredible. One moment you stand staring Stevie Nicks in the face and the next you hear the sound of a baby's first crying. I have to say I did wipe away some tears."_

"_Yes, you were being rather sentimental."_

Elsie scoffs. "_As if you weren't, Mr 'Dashing Away With A Smoothing Iron'!"_

"_She did steal my heart away, Mrs Carson and is costs me nothing to say it."_

"_She has you twisted round her little finger already, Granddad." _

He blushes, but isn't put out at all.

"_Be that as it may, I think it is time to celebrate her birth a little. I thought we could do her a song. Instead of your usual Friday choice."_

"_Oh, but I did come up with a wonderful choice just to do that, Mr Carson. We wish you all a very happy weekend, dear listeners and a very warm welcome to life, Nora!" _

She puts the record on, the crackling making the feedback dials do somersaults.

As the first sounds of the song play, Charles lowers his lips to hers and they kiss, only letting go of each other to sing along with Louis Armstrong:

_I hear babies crying _

_I watch them grow _

_They'll learn much more _

_Than I'll ever know _

_And I think to myself _

_What a wonderful world_

* * *

><p>THE END<p>

* * *

><p><strong>notes:<strong>

* As far as I know Fleetwood Mac are not planning to tour Europe in 2015 (sadness), but for the sake of this fic, they are. Obviously.

At the concert, Charles and Elsie heard: Big Love and Landslide (according to the setlist, these are played after each other)

In the car, they heard: Ain't got no - I got life, by Nina Simone

Charles sang to Nora: Dashing Away With A Smoothing Iron

In the morning, Charles and Elsie announced the birth of Nora and accompanied it by playing: What A Wonderful World, by Louis Armstrong


End file.
